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DEMCO, INC. 38-2931 

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r\ *i C\ 

This is Volume XI of a complete set of 

€I)e (Kreat dEbcntjs by tfamoug ^tjStortaniS 

Consisting of Twenty Volumes, Issued Strictly as a Limited 
Edition. In Volume I will be found the Official Certificate, 
under the Seal of the National Alumni, as to the Limitation 
of the Edition, the Registered Number of this Set, and the 
Name of the Owner. 

Vol. XI 

The binding of this volume is a facsimile of the original in the 
Old Royal Collection, on exhibition in the British Museum. 

The book is a collection of Epistles of Cicero, and was pre- 
sented to the Prince of Wales (Edward VI) by the University of 

This binding was executed by Thomas Berthelet, Royal 
Binder successively to Henry VIII, Edward VI, and Queen Mary. 
The few Berthelet bindings now in existence are considered mas^ 
terpieces of the art and are highly prized. 











With a staff of specialists 


C^e Rational aiumnf 





An Outline Narrative of the Great Events, . . xiii 


Henry Hudson Explores the Hudson River (a.d. 

i6og), ........ I 


Galileo Overthrows Ancient Philosophy 

The Telescope and Its Discoveries (a.d. z6/o), . • 14 


The Beginning of British Power in India (a.d. 16 1 2), 30 


The Dutch Settlement of New York (a.d. 1614), . 44 


Harvey Discovers the Circulation of the Blood (a.d. 

1616), 5° 


The " Defenestratioti " at Prague (a.d. 1618) 

The Thirty Years' War, ..... 62 


The First American Legislature (a.d. 16/9), . . 7^ 


Introduction of Negroes into Virginia (a.d. i6iq) 

Spread of Slavery and Cultivation of Tobacco, ♦ . 81 





English Pilgrims Settle at Plymouth (a.d. 1620), > 93 


The Birth of Modern Scientific Methods (a.d. 1620) 
Bacon and Descartes, . . . . . .116 


Siege of La Rochelle (a.d. 1627) 

Richelieu Rules France, . . . . * .129 


The Great Puritan Exodus to Nciv England 

The Founding of Boston (a.d. 1630)1 . . . 153 


Triumph and Death of Gustavus Adolphus at Luetzen 

(a.d. 1632), 174 

benjamin chapman 

Recantation of Galileo (a.d. 1633), . . . . 184 


The Educational Reform of Comenius (a.d. 1638) ^ • 192 


The First Written Free Constitution in the World 

(a.d. 1639) 
Earliest Union among American Colonics (a.d. 1643), 205 


Abolition of the Court of Star-chamber (a.d. 1 641) 

The Popular Revolt against Charles I, . . 215 


The Founding of Montreal (a.d. 1642), . . . 232 


Presbyterianism Established 

Meeting of the Westminster Assembly (a.d. 1643), ■ 2 3^ 




Masaniello 's Revolt at Naples (a.d. 1647)1 . . 253 


The Peace of Westphalia (a.d. 1648) 

The War of t lie Fronde, . . . . . .285 


Religions Toleration Proclaimed in Maryland (a.d. 

164Q), 3°3 


The Great Civil War in England 

The Execution of Charles I (a.d. 164Q), . . . 311 


Cromwell s Campaign in Ireland (a.d. 164Q), . • 335 


Mo Here Creates Modern Comedy (a.d. 1659), • . 347 


Cromwell s Rule in England 

The Restoration (a.d. 1660), • • . . • 357 


Universal Chronology (a.d. 1609-/660), . . . 387 





Lord Strafford, on the road to execution, receives, 
under the window of the imprisoned Archbisftop 
Laud, his blessing (page 2J/J, . • Frontispiece 

Painting by Paul Delaroche. 

The imperial Austrian Councillors are thrown out of 

the window of the castle of the Hradshin by the 

enraged Bohemian Deputies, thus precipitating 

the Thirty Years' War, . . . . . 65 

Painting by Vacslavv Brezik. 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers at Plymouth Rock, . 106 
Painting by A. Gisbert. 






AZING across the broader field of universal 
history, one comes more and more to over- 
look the merely temporary, constantly shift- 
ing border lines of states, and to see West- 
ern Europe as a whole, to watch its nations 
as a single people guided by similar devel- 
opments of the mind, impelled by similar 
stirrings of the heart, taking part in but a single story, the 
marvellous tale of man's advance. 

This sense of an all-enfolding unity, an ever- advancing com- 
mon destiny, sinks weakest perhaps in the period we now ap- 
proach. The nations seem sharply separated in their careers. 
In the preceding age the power of Spain and the fanaticism of 
its monarch, Philip II, had made the reestablishment of Cathol- 
icism the dominant question throughout Europe. But in 1609 
Philip III of Spain abandoned his father's attempt to conquer 
Holland and again enforce a universal religion. In 16 10 Henry 
IV of France, who had brought peace and amity out of the sav- 
age religious wars within his own realm, fell under an assassin's 
knife. These two events may be accepted as marking a turn in 
the current of the world, a change in the thoughts of men. The 
next half-century saw wars indeed, bloody and bitter wars, but 
they were no longer primarily religious. The strife was more than 
half political, and men of opposite faiths found themselves at 



times allied upon the battle-field. The feeling of religious brother- 
hood grew weaker, that of political allegiance stronger. 


The triumph of Holland had much to do with this. During 
almost a generation the Catholics of the Southern Netherlands 
had been united with the Protestants of the Northern Provinces 
in desperate war against the tyranny of Spain; and though only 
Holland finally achieved independence, her people could scarce 
forget their long brotherhood with the Catholic South. And now 
Holland was a republic, her people were self-governing ! Look- 
ing with prophetic vision into the future, we may assert that 
this was only the first step toward a broader union of all the na- 
tions when every man shall be self-governing, and hence all shall 
be equal and united and progressive. But for its own time at 
least the freedom of Holland was a sharp influence toward di- 
vision among the people of Europe, toward the establishment of 
differences, the growth of national as opposed to universal broth- 

There was, to be sure, an earlier republic in Europe, Switzer- 
land. But the Swiss maintained themselves by their isolation, 
their remoteness from other nations and from one another in 
their bleak mountain valleys. The Dutch, on the contrary, in- 
habited a flat sea-coast; they were traders; their very existence 
depended on intercourse with other lands. Hence they had to 
be ever alert in defence of their hard- won freedom. The spirit 
of nationality, of patriotism grew strong within them. At one 
time they had been members of the German empire ; at another, 
subjects of France, of Burgundy, of Spain. Now they were Hol- 
landers, a distinct nation by themselves, and an example to all 
others of what a united land of men might do. 

France also had learned a stronger sense of nationality from 
her hero-king, Henry IV. Always, through all his religious 
wars, he had insisted that he was king of all Frenchmen, both 
Catholic and Protestant, and would be a father to them all. He 
withdrew his Protestant army from besieging Paris when the 
surrender of the city seemed certain, abandoned his triumph 
"lest Frenchmen starve." Englishmen, too, in the age of Eliza- 
beth, had learned to regard themselves not only as different from 


but as far superior to men of other races. Spain both by her 
victories and by her sufferings had opened a gap between her 
people and others. Only Germany, through her very impor- 
tance and vague imperial predominance over the surrounding 
lands, failed to find within herself that necessity for union which 
made other kingdoms strong. 

By this internal division Germany was now plunged into the 
awful tragedy of the Thirty Years' War, a partly political, partly 
religious contest in which all the nations of Europe by degrees 
took some part. Thus the war forms to a certain extent a centre 
around which the movements of the age are grouped. England 
also had her great religious strife, her Puritan revolution, which 
collapsed in 1660. Yet on the whole the age is political even 
more than religious, and the ablest statesman of the day, Riche- 
lieu, the most successful guardian France has ever known, reaped 
for his own land all the benefits of the world-wide turmoil. 
France, which had so often seemed on the point of assuming 
the foremost place in Europe and had been so often checked, 
now advanced definitely to the front. The Bourbons, descend- 
ants of Henry IV, took the rank of the decaying Hapsburg family 
as the chief rulers of Europe. Historians often call this the 
age of Richelieu. 


Spain and Austria, the two great Hapsburg states, both de- 
cayed in power. Italy, the Hapsburg dependent, lost the last 
vestiges of her ancient intellectual supremacy. Everywhere the 
South of Europe gave place to the North. 

The blight of the Inquisition was upon Spain. The Moors 
were banished, the Jews were banished; and it had been the 
industry of these two races which had largely supported the 
pride and laziness of the hidalgos. In Italy, too, the Inquisi- 
tion held sway. Galileo with his telescope revealed facts which 
proved the theories of Copernicus, and made impossible the 
ancient idea that our earth was the centre of the universe. 1 
All Europe rang with his discoveries ; but the Church refused 
to understand, forbade him to teach doctrines which it de- 
clared heretical. For a time the astronomer's mouth was closed, 
1 See Galileo Overthrows Ancient Philosophy, page 14, 


but not so the minds of those who had listened to him. In Eng- 
land, where thought was free, Harvey founded medical science 
by his proof of the circulation of the blood; 1 the Lord Chancellor 
Bacon wrote his celebrated Novum Organum, pointing out to 
modern investigators the methods they must follow. In Ger- 
many Comenius revitalized the dead world of education. 2 In 
France Descartes created within his own mind a revolution scarce 
less important than that of Luther. He freed philosophy from 
its thraldom to religion. He bade the mind of man to stand by 
itself, lone in the midst of an unmeasured universe, and discover 
of what one thing it could feel assured by its own unbiassed 
thought. His famous first conclusion, " I think, therefore I ex- 
ist, " stands as the corner-stone of modern philosophy. 3 

Meanwhile Galileo, roused by the encouragement of scien- 
tific friends, began a second time with infinite wit and sarcasm 
to expound and defend his doctrines. The Church took him 
more sternly in hand. He was imprisoned by the Inquisition 
and emerged from its dark chambers a broken and silent man. 
Philosophy, terrified, fled from Italy, not to return until over two 
centuries of the world's advance had prepared for her a less bar- 
baric greeting. 4 

Southern Italy was ruled by viceroys from Spain, but so fee- 
ble had the Hapsburg grip become that Masaniello, a fisherman 
of Naples, was able to rouse his city against its tyrants, and for 
over a year Spain was unable to reestablish her authority. 
When she did, it was only by the treachery of the peasant lead- 
ers who had succeeded the murdered Masaniello. 5 

The internal decay of Spain and the lassitude of her two 
feeble sovereigns, Philip III (1598-1621) and Philip IV (1621- 
1665), prevented her from rendering any material assistance to 
Austria, where the other branch of the Hapsburgs, descendants 
of Charles V's brother Ferdinand, were reduced to struggle for 
their very existence. Ferdinand and his immediate successor as 

1 See Harvey Discovers the Circulation of the Blood, page 50. 

2 See Educatio7ial Reform of Co?nenius, page 192. 

3 See Birth of Modern Scientific Methods : Bacon and Descartes. 
page 116. 

4 See Recantation of Galileo, page 184. 

6 See Masaniello^s Revolt at Naples, page 253. 


Emperor of Germany had kept the religious peace carefully, and 
Germany had prospered. But then came new emperors who re- 
pudiated their methods — Ferdinand had been deemed by the 
Church little better than a Protestant. In 1608 the Protestant 
princes, becoming suspicious, formed a league for mutual de- 
fence. The Catholics under Maximilian of Bavaria formed an 
answering league in 1609. They almost came to open war that 
year over a disputed succession in one of the smaller duchies, 
the Protestants appealing to Holland for help and the Catholics 
to Spain. Fortunately the terrible example of the civil wars they 
had seen in France, held them back for a time. But always there 
were arising new grounds for quarrel. 


In 1618 the actual war began. A new leader, Ferdinand II, 
young and intensely Catholic, had risen to guide the Hapsburg 
fortunes in Austria, had successfully forced that land to resume 
the old religion, and now aimed to do the same in Bohemia. 
The Bohemians, famed fanatics of the unforgotten Hussite wars, 
broke into open rebellion, threw Ferdinand's ministers through 
a window, and so roused the war that ruined Germany. 1 

Ferdinand became Emperor of Germany the next year (16 19), 
and called the Catholic league to his aid in Bohemia. The reb- 
els elected as king one of the German electors, a son-in-law of 
the King of England, and head of the Protestant league. Slowly, 
unwillingly, the various German states, and the surrounding 
countries also, found themselves dragged into the struggle. At 
first Emperor Ferdinand was successful, Bohemia was com- 
pletely subdued and made Catholic, as Austria had been. A 
great general and shrewd contriver, Wallenstein, rose to the 
Emperor's aid and laid Germany prostrate at his feet. For a 
moment the Hapsburgs seemed as all-powerful as in the proud- 
est days of Charles V. But his own coreligionists turned against 
Ferdinand. The princes of the Catholic league grew frightened ; 
he was indeed crushing Protestantism, but he was trampling on 
their rights as well. They fell away from his alliance. Riche- 
lieu, also dreading the Hapsburg aggrandizement, brought 

1 See The" Defenestration" at Prague: The Thirty Years' JVar, 

E., VOL. XI.— B, 


France to take part in the war. Sweden's hero-king Gustavus 
Adolphus invaded Germany to defend the Protestant faith. 
He won splendid victories, but at last fell in his supreme bat- 
tle at Luetzen, from which Wallenstein's troops fled defeated 
(1632). 1 

The war had now lasted fourteen years. The Emperor could 
raise no more armies. His one able general, Wallenstein, was 
slain as a traitor. Germany was exhausted. Yet because no one 
power would consent to the others' proposed terms of peace, the 
war dragged on and on, in such feeble fashion as it could. Its 
misery fell almost wholly upon the unhappy peasantry. The 
armies of both sides lived upon the country; what they could 
not devour they destroyed, lest it be of use to the enemy. Ger- 
many became a desert, and its people starved amid their deso- 
lated homes. The troops, brutalized by long familiarity with 
suffering, tortured their captives to extort money or sometimes, 
it would seem, for the mere pleasure of the sport. 

The Emperor Ferdinand died in the midst of the hideous 
ruin he had wrought. The Swedes, who had long abandoned 
the high principles of Gustavus, demanded territory as the 
price of peace. So did France. At last in 1648 the Peace of 
Westphalia was arranged. By it France became the foremost 
state of Europe; Sweden became one of the great powers; Eng- 
land, engrossed in her own civil war, could pull no chestnuts 
from the fire; but the German empire fell practically to pieces. 
Switzerland and Holland were formally declared outside of it. 
Each little prince got what increase of power he wanted, and the 
authority of the empire disappeared. The Hapsburgs still re- 
tained their title as its heads, but their real authority was con- 
fined entirely to their personal domains, Austria, Bohemia, and 
such part of Hungary as they could hold against the Turks. 2 

Historians tell us that in those terrible thirty years the pop- 
ulation of Germany had dwindled from thirty million to only 
twelve million; nearly two-thirds of its common people had 
perished, mostly of starvation. The stored-up wealth of ages had 
been destroyed. The very character of the race had changed, 

1 See Triumph and Death of Gustavus Adolphus at Luetzen, page 

2 See Peace of Westphalia, page 285. 


broken from its old hardihood to temporary feebleness and 
fawning. The land had been set back an entire century, per- 
haps two, in its advance toward civilization. That is what war 
means. That is glory! 


Meanwhile France, profiting by the feebleness of her neigh- 
bors, had made great strides. At first the death of Henry IV 
had threatened her with the old anarchy. Louis XIII, Henry's 
son, was but a child; the Queen-mother, who became regent, 
was an Italian, Marie de' Medici, and devoted to the Spanish in- 
terests. The Huguenots feared renewed persecution. The no- 
bles of the court grasped after renewed power. 

In such turmoil was the land that it seemed necessary to sum- 
mon the "States- General," the assembly of all the notables of 
France, the last one to be called until that eventful year of 1 789. 
The States- General talked and dissolved, having done nothing 
but reveal that there was one capable man among its members, 
a young bishop who was to be a cardinal, Richelieu. His plans 
for reform and pacification were not adopted, but he drew the 
attention of the Queen Regent and became her chief adviser, 
later the chief adviser of the King. 

Richelieu did four things for France. He broke the power 
of the Huguenots, who had become a political party, and a very 
troublesome one, a state within a state, independent and defi- 
ant, with their impenetrable capital at La Rochelle. After one 
of the most remarkable sieges of history Richelieu captured La 
Rochelle, crushed the resistance of the Huguenots by repeated 
defeats elsewhere, and then — granted them complete religious 
freedom! 1 

It is one of the epochs of the world, the beginning of tolera- 
tion not through force, but through free-will. A Catholic and a 
cardinal, having complete power to force these Protestants to 
his will, bids them worship as they choose, asking only that they 
become patriotic Frenchmen. 

Next Richelieu humbled the great nobles of France, hang- 
ing them when they disobeyed his laws. Next by his part in the 
Thirty Years' War he won territory from both Germany and 
1 See Siege of La Rochelle : Richelieu Rules France, page 129. 


Spain. He was by no means the first Catholic ruler thus to 
seek Protestant allies; Francis I and Henry II had both done 
so in France ; in Germany Charles V had sent a Lutheran army 
against the Pope. But it was Richelieu's successful adherence 
to this plan that positively and finally relegated religion to a 
minor place in statecraft, and made nationality, political su- 
premacy, what some have called " vainglory," the foremost im- 

Last, not least, in Richelieu's brilliant career, is to be noted 
that he revived literature in France. He created the " French 
Academy," the " forty immortals" in whose successors Paris 
still takes pride to-day. The French drama was born. Cor- 
neille wrote The Cid, and the Cardinal himself took his pen and 
attempted to produce a better tragedy. Comedy, too, arose. 
Moliere began the marvellous career which a little later was to 
make him the undying idol of the stage in France. 1 

Nor did Richelieu's death (1642) turn his country from the 
triumphant course toward which he had led the way. His King 
died with him, and his power passed to another cardinal, Maza- 
rin, ruling for another baby-king, who was to be Louis XIV. 
Mazarin found himself confronting an almost similar situation 
to that which had followed the death of Henry IV. There was 
a child upon the throne; an incapable queen-mother as regent, 
foreign, and friendly to the Spaniards ; the nobles grasped after 
power; Paris grumbled under taxation. Mazarin had even to 
face a feeble, frivolous civil war against himself, the Fronde. 2 
But he soon established his supremacy, secured for France in 
1648 all she had earned out of the war with Germany, and then 
ruled with firm hand, bringing wealth and peace and prosperity 
to the state until his death in 1661. Richelieu and Mazarin 
made possible that most spectacular period of all French his- 
tory which immediately followed under Louis XIV. 


Turn now to England, to see why she had held so apart from 
the continental struggles of the period. James I, her Scotch 
king of 1603, had indeed interfered a bit in the Thirty Years' 

' See Moliere Creates Modern Comedy, page 347. 
2 See War of the Fronde, page 285. 


War, seeking to aid his unlucky son-in-law, the King of Bohe- 
mia. But James had soon found difficulties enough at home. 
The Elizabethan age had made Englishmen feel very highly 
their individual importance. Each man, through the entire 
social scale down even to the peasantry, had felt a personal in- 
terest, a personal pride in the repulse of the Spaniards and the 
upholding of the Queen. She tyrannized over them as a woman ; 
they defended her as men. But when this foreigner, this Scotch 
king, came to rule them, they saw no need to yield him such ex- 
act obedience. Freedom of thought had brought with it new 
political ideas, and men talked much of the authority of Parlia- 
ment and their right to tax themselves. James, on the contrary, 
had a large conception of the " divine right" of kings, not to be 
restricted by any law whatever, and a still larger opinion of his 
own personal ability and unfailing wisdom. Gradually there 
grew up a distinct opposition between King and Parliament, 
centring always on that one question — who should lay the taxes, 
that is, who provide the income of the King ? The English revo- 
lution, like the American one to follow, gave to principles far 
more noble in themselves the air of a mere money dispute. 

James, dying in 1625, left a very pretty quarrel to his son. 
Charles I, more able and kingly than his father, but equally ob- 
stinate, equally devoted to the Stuart doctrine of a king's divinity, 
finally endeavored to rule without summoning any of these argu- 
ing parliaments. To accomplish this he had to gather money 
by other methods, declared illegal by his people. Always ap- 
pealing to the law, they grew more and more bitter as Charles 
turned it against them, putting in office judges who would do his 
will, reestablishing the ancient Court of Star- Chamber, with its 
power to torture witnesses. 

Moreover, there was growing up in England a type of more 
extreme Protestantism. The English Church had retained many 
of the forms of Rome, including its hierarchal system of priests 
and bishops. These were dear to the hearts of the Stuart kings, 
whose Protestantism had never been very radical. The Scotch 
Church, on the other hand, had swung far from Rome indeed, and 
many Protestants everywhere refused to have any priestly in- 
terpreter intervene between them and their own consciences, 
their own beliefs. In England these men came to be called Puri- 



tans. They were deeply earnest; religion was ever in their 
thoughts; they had protested even against the wickedness of 
the theatre in Shakespeare's time; and now as they watched 
the light frivolity of the court they became imbittered. They 
called Charles the "man of sin." Round these stern fanatics 
began to centre the general opposition to the King. 

At length the Scotch Protestants broke into open revolt, and 
the King found he must have help, must summon a parliament 
at last. That was the beginning of the end. The Englishmen 
who gathered at his call were in no pleasant mood. They at 
once took steps to secure other parliaments to follow immediately 
on their own. All Charles' encroachments on the law were 
overturned; his courts, Star- Chamber and others, were abol- 
ished; his chief minister was declared a traitor and beheaded. 1 
The King, helpless, infuriated, raised the standard of civil war 

The strife was thus in its inception political; but it soon be- 
came religious as well. Since the King was the head of the Eng- 
lish Church, most of its members rallied round him. The Puri- 
tans in Parliament secured the calling of a convention to settle 
the various religious questions before the nation. This ''West- 
minster Assembly" established the Presbyterian Church. 2 

The less extreme members of the opposition to the King 
grew doubtful; they saw whither the Puritans would lead them. 
The war became one of stern religious fanaticism against gal- 
lant reckless Cavalier loyalty — of the middle classes against the 
aristocracy and their servitors. Cromwell rose as the type and 
model of the Puritans. Under his lead they defeated the Cava- 
liers and executed their King. Charles perished on the scaffold, 
and England, following Holland's lead, was declared a repub- 
lic. This was in 1649, the year after the Peace of Westphalia. 3 

Cromwell remained practically the ruler of England. He 
defeated the Scotch, and compelled them to submit to England's 
sway. He went over to Ireland and stamped out revolt there, 

1 See Abolition of the S tar- Chamber : Popular Revolt against Charles 
/, page 215. 

2 See Presbyterianism Established : Meeting of the Westminster As- 
sembly, page 238. 

'See Civil War in England : Execution of Charles 1^ page 311. 


terrorized the land as no Englishman had ever done before, es- 
tablishing English colonists, Protestants, over a considerable 
portion of its soil. 1 Secure of power at home, the mighty leader 
began next to take a part in European affairs, raising England 
to higher consideration than she had held even in Elizabeth's 
time. Yet toward the end he must have realized that he had 
failed in his life's dream, that England was unfitted to be the 
united religious republic he had hoped to make her. Even be- 
fore his death the land was broken into endless factions, the ma- 
jority dissatisfied with the strictness of Puritan rule, a small 
minority eager to go much further with its severity. Cromwell 
found himself compelled to dissolve his parliaments as auto- 
cratically as ever Charles had done; and when he died, when 
his iron hand dropped from the helm, no man knew what was 
to follow. No one wanted war. Each little wrangling party 
looked a different way for peace and security. At length the 
majority agreed to call back their Stuart kings. ' Charles II, 
son of the Charles I they had beheaded, was voluntarily replaced 

tupon the English throne. Religion had once more proved in- 
efficient as the central principle of government. 2 


Equally important for the future, though not for their own 
day, were the movements toward colonization in this period. 
Even while their war with Spain was in progress the Dutch mer- 
chants had begun to look for trading-stations in the distant 
seas. Following the Portuguese, they sailed around Africa, and 
wrenched from their feeble predecessors most of the Indian 
trade. They took possession of the Eastern isles, Java and Su- 
matra. In the very year of the truce, 1609, they turned their 
attention westward and sent Henry Hudson to explore the 
American coast. 3 Claiming possession of the river he had found, 
they built settlements at Albany and New York. 4 

England was their chief rival on the seas. Her ships followed 
theirs to India and fought with them, refusing to be dispossessed 

1 See Cromwell's Campaign t7i Ireland, page 335. 

2 See Cromwell's Rule in England : The Restoration, page 357. 
8 See Henry Hudson Explores the Hudson River, page 1. 

4 See Dutch Settlement of New York, page 44. 


like the Portuguese. 1 The English colonists at Jamestown had 
preceded the Dutch in defiance of Spain and the denial of her 
claims upon America. England and Holland quarrelled for the 
carrying trade of the world. They became the two foremost 
naval powers, and in Cromwell's time fought a fierce and vigor- 
ous naval war. The two Protestant champions of Europe wast- 
ing their strength one against the other for commercial causes! 
Clearly indeed do we approach an age when religion becomes 
of little international prominence. 

France also had the colonizing fever. Henry IV had sent 
an expedition to Quebec. Richelieu authorized one which 
settled Montreal, destined to be the chief metropolis of Can- 
ada. 2 

These early settlements had been movements authorized by 
their governments, encouraged by the parent state for its own 
purposes; but now there began a civilization very different in 
character. Some of the English Puritans finding the oppressive 
hand of King James I fall heavy upon them, extracted from his 
ministers a half-unwilling permission to settle on his American 
lands. So came the famous voyage of the Mayflower and the 
building of Plymouth on the Massachusetts coast. 3 King James 
had been a foster-father to the Virginia colony, he had drawn up 
a set of laws for it with his own hand, and when these failed he 
had granted it a local assembly of its own, the beginning of rep- 
resentative government in America. 4 Virginia was prospering. 
Slavery was introduced there in 1619 and, much to the royal 
patron's disgust, the cultivation of tobacco as well. 5 Soon the 
new colony was supplying the world with tobacco. 

But the nest of Puritans farther north could expect no such 
favor from James. As the hand of oppression grew ever heavier 
at home, the Puritans, not yet dreaming of escape by rebellion, 
looked more and more thoughtfully to the land beyond the sea. 
They planned to expatriate themselves almost in a body. A 

1 See Beginning of British Power in India, page 30. 

2 See Founding of Montreal, page 232. 

3 See English Pilgrims Settle at Plymouth, page 93. 

4 See First American Legislature, page 76. 

5 See Introduction of Negroes into Virginia : Spread of Slavery and 
the Cultivation of Tobacco, page 81. 


great preliminary fleet carrying over a thousand souls left Eng- 
land in 1630 and settled Boston. 1 

During the next ten years twenty thousand Puritans came 
to Massachusetts. This was colonization on a scale hitherto 
unconceived. A new and powerful commonwealth burst sud- 
denly into being where the primeval wilderness had so lately 
been. And it was a commonwealth rebellious from the start. 
When the civil war broke out in England against Charles, large 
numbers of the Massachusetts men hurried back to take grim 
part in it. In America the rule of England became little more 
than a name. Other colonies were formed both north and south, 
and they stood by themselves with no mother-country to uphold 
them. They grew strong through wrestling with the wilderness. 
Connecticut was settled from Massachusetts, and its pioneers, 
seeing no arm of authority long enough to reach them, drew 
up a code of laws of their own, the first written constitution pre- 
pared by a free people for their own government. 2 A few years 
later we find the New England colonies uniting in a union for 
defence against the Indians — and, if necessary, against King 
Charles' tyranny as well. 3 Maryland was settled by English 
Catholics who had found themselves as oppressed as the Puri- 
tans at home, and there the assembly of burghers proclaimed re- 
ligious toleration to all who joined them. 4 Surely the New World 
had something to teach the Old! Only Europe's brightest and 
bravest and best had ventured to cross the seas for the freedom 
they desired. It was with good material indeed, and after sore 
experience of European blunders, that the land beyond the 
ocean began its remarkable career. 

1 See Great Puritan Exodus to New E7igland : Founding of Boston, 
page 153. 

8 See First Written Free Constitution in the World, page 205. 

3 See Earliest Union among Americati Colonies, page 205. 

4 See Religious Toleration Proclaimed in Maryland, page 303. 

[for the next section of this general survey see volume xii] 



A.D. 1609 


Although Henry Hudson was not the first discoverer of the waters to 
which his name was given, he was a bold sailor whose achievements justly 
gave him rank with the foremost navigators and explorers of his time. 
He was well versed in scientific navigation. His first recorded voyage 
was made in the service of the Muscovy or Russia Company of Englana 
in 1607. His object was to find a passage across the north pole to the 
Spice Islands (Moluccas), in the Malay Archipelago. Though failing in 
this purpose, he reached a higher latitude than had before been attained 
by any navigator. 

His next venture (1608), for the same company, was for "finding a 
passage to the East Indies by the northeast," but he failed to pass in that 
direction beyond Nova Zembla, and returned to England. These two 
failures discouraged the Muscovy Company, but did not daunt Henry 
Hudson. Again he determined to sail the northern seas, and the story 
of his third great voyage and its results is here given to the reader. 

LJUDSON, whose mind was completely bent upon making the 
discovery which he had undertaken, now sought employ- 
ment from the Dutch East India Company. The fame of his 
adventures had already reached Holland, and he had received 
from the Dutch the appellations of the bold Englishman, the 
expert pilot, the famous navigator. The company were gener- 
ally in favor of accepting the offer of his services, though the 
scheme was strongly opposed by Balthazar Moucheron, one of 
their number, who had some acquaintance with the arctic seas. 
They accordingly gave him the command of a small vessel, 
named the Half Moon, with a crew of twenty men, Dutch and 
English, among whom was Robert Juet, who had accompanied 
him as mate on his second voyage. The journal of the present 
voyage, which is published in Purchas' Pilgrims, was written 
by Juet. 

He sailed from Amsterdam March 25, 1609, and doubled the 

E., VOL. XI.— I. 


North Cape in about a month. His object was to pass through 
the Vaygats, or perhaps to the north of Nova Zembla, and thus 
reach China by the northeast passage. But after contending 
for more than a fortnight with head winds, continual fogs, and 
ice, and finding it impossible to reach even the coast of Nova 
Zembla, he determined to abandon this plan, and endeavor to 
discover a passage by the northwest. He accordingly directed 
his course westerly, doubled the North Cape again, and in a few 
days saw a part of the western coast of Norway, in the latitude 
of 68°. From this point he sailed for the Faroe Islands, where 
he arrived about the end of May. 

Having replenished his water-casks at one of these islands 
he again hoisted sail, and steered southwest, in the hope of mak- 
ing Buss Island, which had been discovered by Sir Martin Fro- 
bisher, in 1578, as he wished to ascertain if it was correctly laid 
down on the chart. As he did not succeed in finding it, he con- 
tinued this course for nearly a month, having much severe weather 
and a succession of gales, in one of which the foremast was 
carried away. Having arrived at the 45 th degree of latitude, 
he judged it best to shape his course westward, with the inten- 
tion of making Newfoundland. While proceeding in this direc- 
tion he one day saw a vessel standing to the eastward, and wish- 
ing to speak her he put the ship about and gave chase; but finding 
as night came on that he could not overtake her he resumed the 
westerly course again. 

On July 2d he had soundings on the Grand Bank of New- 
foundland, and saw a whole fleet of Frenchmen fishing there. 
Being on soundings for several days he determined to try his 
luck at fishing; and the weather falling calm he set the whole 
crew at work to so much purpose that, in the course of the morn- 
ing, they took between one and two hundred very large cod. 
After two or three days of calm the wind sprang up again, and 
he continued his course westward till the 1 2th, when he first had 
sight of the coast of North America. The fog was so thick, 
however, that he did not venture nearer the coast for several 
days; but at length, the weather clearing up, he ran into a bay 
at the mouth of a large river, in the latitude of 44 . This was 
Penobscot Bay, on the coast of Maine. 

He already had some notion of the kind of inhabitants he 


was to find here, for a few days before he had been visited by six 
savages, who came on board in a very friendly manner and ate 
and drank with him. He found that from their intercourse with 
the French traders they had learned a few words of their lan- 
guage. Soon after coming to anchor he was visited by several of 
the natives, who appeared very harmless and inoffensive; and 
in the afternoon two boats full of them came to the ship, bringing 
beaver-skins and other fine furs, which they wished to exchange 
for articles of dress. They offered no violence whatever, though 
we find in Juet's journal constant expressions of distrust, appar- 
ently without foundation. 

They remained in this bay long enough to cut and rig a new 
foremast, and being now ready for sea the men were sent on shore 
upon an expedition that disgraced the whole company. What 
Hudson's sentiments or motives with regard to this transaction 
were we can only conjecture from a general knowledge of his 
character, as we have no account of it from himself. But it 
seems highly probable that, if he did not project it, he at least 
gave his consent to its perpetration. The account is in the words 
of Juet, as follows: "In the morning we manned our scute with 
four muskets and six men, and took one of their shallops and 
brought it aboard. Then we manned our boat and scute with 
twelve men and muskets, and two stone pieces, or murderers, 
and drave the salvages from their houses, and took the spoil of 
them, as they would have done of us." After this exploit they 
returned to the ship and set sail immediately. It does not appear 
from the journal that the natives had ever offered them any 
harm or given any provocation for so wanton an act. The 
writer only asserts that they would have done it if they could. 
No plea is more commonly used to justify tyranny and cruelty 
than the supposed bad intentions of the oppressed. 

He now continued southward along the coast of America. 
It appears that Hudson had been informed by his friend, 
Captain John Smith, that there was a passage to the western 
Pacific Ocean south of Virginia, and that, when he had proved 
the impossibility of going by the northeast, he had offered his 
crew the choice either to explore this passage spoken of by Cap- 
tain John Smith or to seek the northwest passage by going 
through Davis Strait. Many of the men had been in the East 


India service, and in the habit of sailing in tropical climates, and 
were consequently very unwilling to endure the severities of a 
high northern latitude. It was therefore voted that they should 
go in search of the passage to the south of Virginia, 

In a few days they saw land extending north, and terminat- 
ing in a remarkable headland, which he recognized to be Cape 
Cod. Wishing to double the headland, he sent some of the men 
in the boat to sound along the shore, before venturing nearer 
with the ship. The water was five fathoms deep within bow- 
shot of the shore, and, landing, they found, as the journal in- 
forms us, "goodly grapes and rose-trees," which they brought on 
board with them. He then weighed anchor and advanced as 
far as the northern extremity of the headland. Here he heard 
the voice of someone calling to them, and, thinking it possible 
some unfortunate European might have been left there, he im- 
mediately despatched some of the men to the shore. They 
found only a few savages; but, as these appeared very friendly, 
they brought one of them on board, where they gave him refresh- 
ments and also a present of three or four glass buttons, with 
which he seemed greatly delighted. The savages were observed 
to have green tobacco and pipes, the bowls of which were made 
of clay and the stems of red copper. 

The wind not being favorable for passing west of this head- 
land into the bay, Hudson determined to explore the coast 
farther south, and the next day he saw the southern point of 
Cape Cod, which had been discovered and named by Bar- 
tholomew Gosnold in the year 1602. He passed in sight of 
Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard, and continued a southerly 
course till the middle of August, when he arrived at the entrance 
of Chesapeake Bay. "This," says the writer of the journal, "is 
the entrance into the King's river, in Virginia, where our Eng- 
lishmen are." The colony, under the command of Newport, 
consisting of one hundred five persons, among whom were 
Smith, Gosnold, Wingfield, and RatclifTe, had arrived here a 
little more than two years before, and if Hudson could have 
landed he would have enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing and con- 
versing with his own countrymen, and in his own language, in 
the midst of the forests of the New World. But the wind was 
blowing a gale from the northeast, and, probably dreading a 


shore with which he was unacquainted, he made no attempt to 
find them. 

He continued to ply to the south for several days, till he 
reached the latitude of 35 41', when he again changed his course 
to the north. It is highly probable that if the journal of the 
voyage had been kept by Hudson himself we should have been 
informed of his reasons for changing the southerly course at this 
point. The cause, however, is not difficult to conjecture. He 
had gone far enough to ascertain that the information given him 
by Captain Smith with respect to a passage into the Pacific south 
of Virginia was incorrect, and he probably did not think it worth 
while to spend more time in so hopeless a search. He therefore 
retraced his steps, and on August 28th discovered Delaware 
Bay, where he examined the currents, soundings, and the ap- 
pearance of the shores, without attempting to land. From this 
anchorage he coasted northward, the shore appearing low, like 
sunken ground, dotted with islands, till September 2d, when he 
saw the highlands of Navesink, which, the journalist remarks, 
"is a very good land to fall with and a pleasant land to see." 

The entrance into the southern waters of New York is thus 
described in the journal: "At three of the clock in the afternoon 
we came to three great rivers. So we stood along to the northern- 
most, thinking to have gone into it, but we found it to have a very 
shoal bar before it, for we had but ten foot water. Then we cast 
about to the southward and found two fathoms, three fathoms, 
and three and a quarter, till we came to the southern side of 
them; then we had five and six fathoms, and anchored. So we 
sent in our boat to sound, and they found no less water than four, 
five, six, and seven fathoms, and returned in an hour and a half. 
So we weighed and went in and rode in five fathoms, oozy ground, 
and saw many salmons, and mullets, and rays very great." The 
next morning having ascertained by sending in the boat that there 
was a very good harbor before him, he ran in and anchored at 
two cables' length from the shore. This was within Sandy Hook 

He was very soon visited by the natives, who came on board 
his vessel, and seemed to be greatly rejoiced at his arrival among 
them. They brought green tobacco, which they desired to ex- 
change for knives and beads, and Hudson observed that they 


had copper pipes and ornaments of copper. They also appeared 
to have plenty of maize, from which they made good bread. 
Their dress was of deerskins, well cured, and hanging loosely 
about them. There is a tradition that some of his men, being 
sent out to fish, landed on Coney Island. They found the soil 
sandy, but supporting a vast number of plum-trees loaded with 
fruit, and grapevines growing round them. 

The next day, the men, being sent in the boat to explore the 
bay still farther, landed, probably on the Jersey shore, where 
they were very kindly received by the savages, who gave them 
plenty of tobacco. They found the land covered with large 
oaks. Several of the natives also came on board, dressed in 
mantles of feathers and fine furs. Among the presents they 
brought were dried currants, which were found extremely pal- 

Soon afterward five of the men were sent in the boat to ex- 
amine the north side of the bay and sound the river, which was 
perceived at the distance of four leagues. They passed through 
the Narrows, sounding all along, and saw "a narrow river to the 
westward, between two islands, " supposed to be Stat en Island 
and Bergen Neck. They described the land as covered with 
trees, grass, and flowers, and filled with delightful fragrance. 
On their return to the ship they were assaulted by two canoes; 
one contained twelve and the other fourteen savages. It was 
nearly dark, and the rain which was falling had extinguished their 
match, so that they could only trust to their oars for escape. 
One of the men, John Colman, who had accompanied Hudson 
on his first voyage, was killed by an arrow shot into his throat, 
and two more were wounded. The darkness probably saved 
them from the savages, but at the same time it prevented their 
finding the vessel, so that they did not return till the next day, 
when they appeared, bringing the body of their comrade. Hud- 
son ordered him to be carried on shore and buried, and named 
the place, in memory of the event, Colman's Point. 

He now expected an attack from the natives, and accordingly 
hoisted in the boat and erected a sort of bulwark along the sides 
of the vessel, for the better defence. But these precautions were 
needless. Several of the natives came on board, but in a friendly 
manner, wishing to exchange tobacco and Indian corn for the 


trifles which the sailors could spare them. They did not appear 
to know anything of the affray which had taken place. But the 
day after two large canoes came off to the vessel, the one filled 
with armed men, the other under the pretence of trading. Hud- 
son, however, would only allow two of the savages to come on 
board, keeping the rest at a distance. The two who came on 
board were detained, and Hudson dressed them up in red coats ; 
the remainder returned to the shore. Presently another canoe, 
with two men in it, came to the vessel. Hudson also detained 
one of these, probably wishing to keep him as a hostage, but he 
very soon jumped overboard and swam to the shore. On the 
nth Hudson sailed through the Narrows and anchored in New 
York Bay. 

He prepared to explore the magnificent river which came 
rolling its waters into the sea from unknown regions. Whither 
he would be conducted in tracing its course he could form no 
conjecture. A hope may be supposed to have entered his mind 
that the long-desired passage to the Indies was now at length dis- 
covered; that here was to be the end of his toils; that here, in this 
mild climate, and amid these pleasant scenes, was to be found 
that object which he had sought in vain through the snows and 
ice of the Arctic zone. With a glad heart, then, he weighed an- 
chor on September 12th, and commenced his memorable voyage 
up that majestic stream which now bears his name. 

The wind only allowed him to advance a few miles the first 
two days of the voyage, but the time which he was obliged to 
spend at anchor was fully occupied in trading with the natives, 
who came off from the shore in great numbers, bringing oysters 
and vegetables. He observed that they had copper pipes, and 
earthen vessels to cook their meat in. They seemed very harm- 
less and well disposed, but the crew were unwilling to trust these 
appearances, and would not allow any of them to come on board. 
The next day, a fine breeze springing up from the southeast, he 
was able to make great progress, so that he anchored at night 
nearly forty miles from the place of starting in the morning. 
He observes that "here the land grew very high and mountain- 
ous," so that he had undoubtedly anchored in the midst of the 
fine scenery of the Highlands. 

When he awoke in the morning he found heavy mist over- 


hanging the river and its shores and concealing the summits of 
the mountains. But it was dispelled by the sun in a short time, 
and taking advantage of a fair wind he weighed anchor and con- 
tinued the voyage. A little circumstance occurred this morn- 
ing which was destined to be afterward painfully remembered. 
The two savages, whom he held as hostages, made their escape 
through the portholes of the vessel and swam to the shore, and 
as soon as the ship was under sail they took pains to express their 
indignation at the treatment they had received, by uttering loud 
and angry cries. Toward night he came to other mountains, 
which, he says, "lie from the river's side," and anchored, it is 
supposed, near the present site of Catskill Landing. "There," 
says the journal, " we found very loving people and very old men, 
where we were well used. Our boat went to fish and caught 
great store of very good fish." 

The next morning, September 16th, the men were sent again 
to catch fish, but were not so successful as they had been the day 
before, in consequence of the savages having been there in their 
canoes all night. A large number of the natives came off to the 
ship, bringing Indian corn, pumpkins, and tobacco. The day 
was consumed in trading with the natives and in filling the casks 
with fresh water, so that they did not weigh anchor till toward 
night. After sailing about five miles, finding the water shoal, 
they came to anchor, probably near the spot where the city of 
Hudson now stands. The weather was hot, and Hudson deter- 
mined to set his men at work in the cool of the morning. He 
accordingly, on the 1 7th, weighed anchor at dawn and ran up the 
river about fifteen miles, when, finding shoals and small islands, 
he thought it best to anchor again. Toward night the vessel, 
having drifted near the shore, grounded in shoal water, but was 
easily drawn off by carrying out the small anchor. She was 
aground again in a short time in the channel, but, the tide rising, 
she floated off. 

The two days following he advanced only about five miles, 
being much occupied by his intercourse with the natives. Being 
in the neighborhood of the present town of Castleton, he went 
on shore, where he was very kindly received by an old savage, 
"the governor of the country," who took him to his house, and 
gave him the best cheer he could. At his anchorage also, five 


miles above this place, the natives came flocking on board, 
bringing a great variety of articles, such as grapes, pumpkins, 
beaver and otter skins, which they exchanged for beads, knives, 
and hatchets or whatever trifles the sailors could spare them. 
The next day was occupied in exploring the river, four men being 
sent in the boat, under the command of the mate, for that pur- 
pose. They ascended several miles and found the channel nar- 
row and in some places only two fathoms deep, but after that 
seven or eight fathoms. In the afternoon they returned to the 
ship. Hudson resolved to pursue the examination of the chan- 
nel on the following morning, but was interrupted by the num- 
ber of natives who came on board. Finding that he was not 
likely to gain any progress this day, he sent the carpenter ashore 
to prepare a newforeyard, and in the mean time prepared to make 
an extraordinary experiment on board. 

From the whole tenor of the journal it is evident that great 
distrust was entertained by Hudson and his men toward the 
natives. He now determined to ascertain, by intoxicating some 
of the chiefs, and thus throwing them off their guard, whether 
they were plotting any treachery. He accordingly invited sev- 
eral of them into the cabin and gave them plenty of brandy to 
drink. One of these men had his wife with him, who, the jour- 
nal informs us, "sate so modestly as any one of our country- 
women would do in a strange place"; but the men had less 
delicacy, and were soon quite merry with the brandy. One of 
them, who had been on board from the first arrival of the ship, 
was completely intoxicated, and fell sound asleep, to the great 
astonishment of his companions, who probably feared that he 
had been poisoned, for they all took to their canoes and made 
for the shore, leaving their unlucky comrade on board. Their 
anxiety for his welfare, however, soon induced them to return, 
and they brought a quantity of beads, which they gave him, per- 
haps to enable him to purchase his freedom from the spell that 
had been laid upon him. 

The poor savage slept quietly all night, and when his friends 
came to visit him the next morning they found him quite well. 
This restored their confidence, so that they came to the ship again 
in crowds, in the afternoon, bringing various presents for Hud- 
son. Their visit, which was one of unusual ceremony, is thus 


described in the journal: "So, at three of the clock in the after- 
noon, they came aboard and brought tobacco and more beads 
and gave them to our master, and made an oration, and showed 
him all the country round about. Then they sent one of their 
company on land, who presently returned and brought a great 
platter full of venison, dressed by themselves, and they caused 
him to eat with them. Then they made him reverence, and de- 
parted, all save the old man that lay aboard. " 

At night the mate returned in the boat, having been sent 
again to explore the river. He reported that he had ascended 
eight or nine leagues, and found but seven feet of water and 
irregular soundings. 

It was evidently useless to attempt to ascend the river any 
farther with the ship, and Hudson therefore determined to re- 
turn. We may well imagine that he was satisfied already with 
the result of the voyage, even supposing him to have been dis- 
appointed in not finding here a passage to the Indies. He had 
explored a great and navigable river to the distance of nearly 
a hundred forty miles; he had found the country along the 
banks extremely fertile, the climate delightful, and the scenery 
displaying every variety of beauty and grandeur; and he knew 
that he had opened the way for his patrons to possessions which 
might prove of inestimable value. 

It is supposed that the highest place which the Half Moon 
reached in the river was the neighborhood of the present site 
of Albany, and that the boats being sent out to explore ascended 
as high as Waterford, and probably some distance beyond. The 
voyage down the river was not more expeditious than it had 
been in ascending; the prevalent winds were southerly, and for 
several days the ship could advance but very slowly. The time, 
however, passed agreeably in making excursions on the shore, 
where they found "good ground for corn and other garden herbs, 
with a great store of goodly oaks and walnut-trees, and chestnut- 
trees, ewe-trees and trees of sweetwood in great abundance, and 
great store of slate for houses, and other good stones"; or in 
receiving visits from the natives, who came on the ship in num- 
bers. While Hudson was at anchor near the spot where the 
city bearing his name now stands, two canoes came from the 
place where the scene of the intoxication had occurred, and in 


one of them was the old man who had been the sufferer under the 
strange experiment. He brought another old man with him, 
who presented Hudson with a string of beads, and "showed all 
the country there about, as though it were at his command." 
Hudson entertained them at dinner, with four of their women, 
and in the afternoon dismissed them with presents. 

He continued the voyage down the river, taking advantage 
of wind and tide as he could, and employing tne time when at 
anchor in fishing or in trading with the natives, who came to the 
ship nearly every day, till on October ist he anchored near Stony 

The vessel was no sooner perceived from the shore to be 
stationary than a party of the native mountaineers came off in 
their canoes to visit it, and were filled with wonder at everything 
it contained. While the attention of the crew was taken up with 
their visitors upon deck, one of the savages managed to run his 
canoe under the stern and, climbing up the rudder, found his 
way into the cabin by the window, where, having seized a pillow 
and a few articles of wearing- apparel, he made off with them in 
the canoe. The mate detected him as he fled, fired at and killed 
him. Upon this, all the other savages departed with the ut- 
most precipitation, some taking to their canoes and others plung- 
ing into the water. The boat was manned, and sent after the 
stolen goods, which were easily recovered ; but as the men were 
returning to the vessel, one of the savages, who were in the water, 
seized hold of the keel of the boat, with the intention, as was sup- 
posed, of upsetting it. The cook took a sword and lopped his 
hand off, and the poor wretch immediately sank. They then 
weighed anchor and advanced about five miles. 

The next day Hudson descended about seven leagues and 
anchored. Here he was visited in a canoe by one of the two 
savages who had escaped from the ship as he was going up. 
But fearing treachery, he would not allow him or his companions 
to come on board. Two canoes filled with armed warriors then 
came under the stern and commenced an attack with arrows. 
The men fired at them with their muskets and killed three of 
them. More than a hundred savages now came down upon 
the nearest point of land to shoot at the vessel. One of the 
cannon was brought to bear upon these warriors, and at the 


first discharge two of them were killed and the rest fled to the 

The savages were not yet discouraged. They had doubtless 
been instigated to make this attack by the two who escaped near 
West Point, and who had probably incited their countrymen by the 
story of their imprisonment, as well as by representing to them 
the value of the spoil, if they could capture the vessel, and the 
small number of men who guarded it. Nine or ten of the bold- 
est warriors now threw themselves into a canoe and put off tow- 
ard the ship, but a shot from the cannon made a hole in the 
canoe and killed one of the men. This was followed by a dis- 
charge of musketry, which destroyed three or four more. This 
put an end to the battle, and in the evening, having descended 
about five miles, Hudson anchored in a part of the river out of 
the reach of his enemies, probably near Hoboken. 

Hudson had now explored the bay of New York and the noble 
stream which pours into it from the north. For his employers 
he had secured a possession which would beyond measure re- 
ward them for the expense they had incurred in fitting out the 
expedition. For himself he had gained a name that was destined 
to live in the gratitude of a great nation through unnumbered 
generations. Happy in the result of his labors and in the bril- 
liant promise they afforded, he spread his sails again for the Old 
World on October 4th, and in a little more than a month arrived 
safely at Dartmouth, in England. 

The journal kept by Juet ends abruptly at this place. The 
question therefore immediately arises whether Hudson pursued 
his voyage to Holland, or whether he remained in England and 
sent the vessel home. Several Dutch authors assert that Hud- 
son was not allowed, after reaching England, to pursue his voy- 
age to Amsterdam; and this seems highly probable when we 
remember the well-known jealousy with which the maritime 
enterprises of the Dutch were regarded by King James. 

Whether Hudson went to Holland himself or not, it seems 
clear from various circumstances that he secured to the Dutch 
Company all the benefits of his discoveries, by sending to them 
his papers and charts. It is worthy of note that the earliest his- 
tories of this voyage, with the exception of Juet's journal, were 
published by Dutch authors. Moreover, Hudson's own jour- 


nal, or some portion of it at least, was in Holland, and was used 
by De Laet previously to the publication of Juet's journal in 
Purchas' Pilgrims. But the most substantial proof that the 
Dutch enjoyed the benefit of his discoveries earlier than any other 
nation, is the fact that the very next year they were trading in 
Hudson River, which it is not probable would have happened if 
they had not had possession of Hudson's charts and journal. 



A.D. l6lO 


When the Copernican system of astronomy was published to the world 
(1543) it had to encounter, as all capital theories and discoveries in 
science have done, the criticism, and, for some time, the opposition, of 
men holding other views. After Copernicus, the next great name in 
modern science is that of Tycho Brahe (1546-1601), who rejected the 
theory of Copernicus in favor of a modified form of the Ptolemaic sys- 
tem. This was still taught in the schools when two mighty contempo- 
raries, geniuses of science, rose to overthrow it forever. 

These men were Galileo Galilei—commonly known as Galileo— and 
Kepler, both astronomers, though Galileo's scientific work covered also 
a much wider field. He is regarded to-day as marking a distinct epoch 
in the progress of the world, and the following account of his work by 
the eminent scientist, Sir Oliver Lodge, expresses no more than a just 
appreciation of his great services to mankind. 

/^ALILEO exercised a vast influence on the development of 
human thought. A man of great and wide culture, a so- 
called universal genius, it is as an experimental philosopher that 
he takes the first rank. In this capacity he must be placed along- 
side of Archimedes, and it is pretty certain that between the two 
there was no man of magnitude equal to either in experimental 
philosophy. It is perhaps too bold a speculation, but I venture 
to doubt whether in succeeding generations we find his equal in 
the domain of purely experimental science until we come to Far- 
aday. Faraday was no doubt his superior, but I know of no other 
of whom the like can unhesitatingly be said. In mathematical 
and deductive science, of course, it is quite otherwise. Kepler, 
for instance, and many men before and since, have far excelled 
Galileo in mathematical skill and power, though at the same 


time his achievements in this department are by no means to be 

Born at Pisa on the very day that Michelangelo lay dying 
in Rome, he inherited from his father a noble name, cultivated 
tastes, a keen love of truth, and an impoverished patrimony. 
Vincenzo de Galilei, a descendant of the important Bonajuti 
family, was himself a mathematician and a musician, and in a 
book of his still extant he declares himself in favor of free and 
open inquiry into scientific matters, unrestrained by the weight 
of authority and tradition. In all probability the son imbibed 
these precepts: certainly he acted on them. 

Vincenzo, having himself experienced the unremunerative 
character of scientific work, had a horror of his son's taking to 
it, especially as in his boyhood he was always constructing in- 
genious mechanical toys and exhibiting other marks of precoc- 
ity. So the son was destined for business — to be, in fact, a cloth- 
dealer. But he was to receive a good education first, and was 
sent to an excellent convent school. 

Here he made rapid progress, and soon excelled in all 
branches of classics and literature. He delighted in poetry, and 
in later years wrote several essays on Dante, Tasso, and Ariosto, 
besides composing some tolerable poems himself. He played 
skilfully on several musical instruments, especially on the lute, 
of which indeed he became a master, and on which he solaced 
himself when quite an old man. Besides this, he seems to have 
had some skill as an artist, which was useful afterward in illus- 
trating his discoveries, and to have had a fine sensibility as an art 
critic, for we find several eminent painters of that day acknowl- 
edging the value of the opinion of the young Galileo. 

Perceiving all this display of ability, the father wisely came 
to the conclusion that the selling of woollen stuffs would hardly 
satisfy his aspirations for long, and that it was worth a sacrifice 
to send him to the university. So to the university of his native 
town he went, with the avowed object of studying medicine, that 
career seeming the most likely to be profitable. Old Vincenzo's 
horror of mathematics or science as a means of obtaining a live- 
lihood is justified by the fact that while the university professor 
of medicine received two thousand scudi a year, the professor 
of mathematics had only sixty; that is thirteen pounds a year, 


or seven and a half pence a day. So the son had been kept prop- 
erly ignorant of such poverty-stricken subjects, and to study 
medicine he went. 

But his natural bent showed itself even here. For praying 
one day in the cathedral, like a good Catholic as he was all his 
life, his attention was arrested by the great lamp which, after 
lighting it, the verger had left swinging to and fro. Galileo pro- 
ceeded to time its swings by the only watch he possessed — viz., 
his own pulse. He noticed that the time of swing remained, as 
near as he could tell, the same, notwithstanding the fact that the 
swings were getting smaller and smaller. 

By subsequent experiment he verified the law, and the isoch- 
ronism of the pendulum was discovered. An immensely im- 
portant practical discovery this, for upon it all modern clocks 
are based; and Huyghens soon applied it to the astronomical 
clock, which up to that time had been a crude and quite untrust- 
worthy instrument. 

The best clock which Tycho Brahe could get for his observa- 
tory was inferior to one that may now be purchased for a few 
shillings; and this change is owing to the discovery of the pen- 
dulum by Galileo. Not that he applied it to clocks; he was not 
thinking of astronomy, he was thinking of medicine, and wanted 
to count people's pulses. The pendulum served; and "pulsil- 
ogies," as they were called, were thus introduced to and used by 
medical practitioners. 

The Tuscan court came to Pisa for the summer months — for 
it was then a seaside place — and among the suite was Ostillio 
Ricci, a distinguished mathematician and old friend of the Gal- 
ileo family. The youth visited him, and one day, it is said, heard 
a lesson in Euclid being given by Ricci to the pages while he 
stood outside the door entranced. Anyhow, he implored Ricci 
to help him into some knowledge of mathematics, and the old 
man willingly consented. So he mastered Euclid, and passed on 
to Archimedes, for whom he acquired a great veneration. 

His father soon heard of this obnoxious proclivity, and did 
what he could to divert him back to medicine again. But it was 
no use. Underneath his Galen and Hippocrates were secreted 
copies of Euclid and Archimedes, to be studied at every available 
opportunity. Old Vincenzo perceived the bent of genius to be 


too strong for him, and at last gave way. With prodigious ra- 
pidity the released philosopher now assimilated the elements of 
mathematics and physics, and at twenty-six we find him ap- 
pointed for three years to the university chair of mathematics, 
and enjoying the paternally dreaded stipend of seven and a half 
pence a day. 

Now it was that he pondered over the laws of falling bodies. 
He verified, by experiment, the fact that the velocity acquired by 
falling down any slope of given height was independent of the 
angle of slope. Also, that the height fallen through was propor- 
tional to the square of the time. 

Another thing he found experimentally was that all bodies, 
heavy and light, fell at the same rate, striking the ground at the 
same time. Now this was clean contrary to what he had been 
taught. The physics of those days were a simple reproduction 
of statements in old books. Aristotle had asserted certain things 
to be true, and these were universally believed. No one thought 
of trying the thing to see if it really were so. The idea of making 
an experiment would have savored of impiety, because it seemed 
to tend toward scepticism, and cast a doubt on a reverend au- 

Young Galileo, with all the energy and imprudence of youth 
— what a blessing that youth has a little imprudence and disre- 
gard of consequences in pursuing a high ideal! — as soon as he 
perceived that his instructors were wrong on the subject of fall- 
ing bodies, instantly informed them of the fact. Whether he ex- 
pected them to be pleased or not is a question. Anyhow, they 
were not pleased, but were much annoyed by his impertinent 

It is, perhaps, difficult for us now to appreciate precisely 
their position. These doctrines of antiquity, which had come 
down hoary with age, and the discovery of which had reawa- 
kened learning and quickened intellectual life, were accepted less 
as a science or a philosophy than as a religion. Had they re- 
garded Aristotle as a verbally inspired writer, they could not 
have received his statements with more unhesitating conviction. 
In any dispute as to a question of fact, such as the one before us 
concerning the laws of falling bodies, their method was not to 
make an experiment, but to turn over the pages of Aristotle; and 

E.,VOL. XI. — 2. 


he who could quote chapter and verse of this great writer was 
held to settle the question and raise it above the reach of con- 

It is very necessary for us to realize this state of things 
clearly, because otherwise the attitude of the learned of those 
days toward every new discovery seems stupid and almost in- 
sane. They had a crystallized system of truth, perfect, sym- 
metrical; it wanted no novelty, no additions; every addition or 
growth was an imperfection, an excrescence, a deformity. Prog- 
ress was unnecessary and undesired. The Church had a rigid 
system of dogma which must be accepted in its entirety on pain 
of being treated as a heretic. Philosophers had a cast-iron sys- 
tem of truth to match — a system founded upon Aristotle — 
and so interwoven with the great theological dogmas that to 
question one was almost equivalent to casting doubt upon the 

In such an atmosphere true science was impossible. The 
life-blood of science is growth, expansion, freedom, develop- 
ment. Before it could appear it must throw off these old shack- 
les of centuries. It must burst its old skin, and emerge, worn 
with the struggle, weakly and unprotected, but free and able to 
grow and to expand. The conflict was inevitable, and it was 
severe. Is it over yet ? I fear not quite, though so nearly as to 
disturb science hardly at all. Then it was different : it was ter- 
rible. Honor to the men who bore the first shock of the battle! 

Now, Aristotle had said that bodies fell at rates depending 
on their weight. A five-pound weight would fall five times as 
quick as a one-pound weight ; a fifty-pound weight fifty times as 
quick, and so on. Why he said so nobody knows. He cannot 
have tried. He was not above trying experiments, like his smaller 
disciples; but probably it never occurred to him to doubt the 
fact. It seems so natural that a heavy body should fall quicker 
than a light one; and perhaps he thought of a stone and a 
feather, and was satisfied. 

Galileo, however, asserted that the weight did not matter a 
bit; that everything fell at the same rate — even a stone and a 
feather, but for the resistance of the air — and would reach the 
ground in the same time. And he was not content to be pooh- 
poohed and snubbed. He knew he was right, and he was de- 


tcrmined to make everyone see the facts as he saw them. So 
one morning, before the assembled university, he ascended the 
famous leaning tower, taking with him a one-hundred-pound 
shot and a one-pound shot. He balanced them on the edge of 
the tower, and let them drop together. Together they fell, and 
together they struck the ground. The simultaneous clang of 
those two weights sounded the death-knell of the old system of 
philosophy, and heralded the birth of the new. 

But was the change sudden ? Were his opponents convinced ? 
Not a jot. Though they had seen with their eyes and heard 
with their ears, the full light of heaven shining upon them, they 
went back muttering and discontented to their musty old vol- 
umes and their garrets, there to invent occult reasons for denying 
the validity of the observation, and for referring it to some un- 
known disturbing cause. 

They saw that if they gave way on this one point they would 
be letting go their anchorage, and henceforward would be liable 
to drift along with the tide, not knowing whither. They dared 
not do this. No; they must cling to the old traditions; they 
could not cast away their rotting ropes and sail out on to the free 
ocean of God's truth in a spirit of fearless faith. 

Yet they had received a shock: as by a breath of fresh salt 
breeze and a dash of spray in their faces, they had been awakened 
out of their comfortable lethargy. They felt the approach of a 
new era. Yes, it was a shock, and they hated the young Galileo 
for giving it them — hated him with the sullen hatred of men who 
fight for a lost and dying cause. 

We need scarcely blame these men; at least we need not 
blame them overmuch. To say that they acted as they did is to 
say that they were human, were narrow-minded, and were the 
apostles of a lost cause. But they could not know this ; they had 
no experience of the past to guide them; the conditions under 
which they found themselves were novel, and had to be met for 
the first time. Conduct which was excusable then would be un- 
pardonable now, in the light of all this experience to guide us. 
Are there any now who practically repeat their error, and resist 
new truth ? who cling to any old anchorage of dogma, and refuse 
to rise with the tide of advancing knowledge? There may be 
some even now. 


Well, the unpopularity of Galileo smouldered for a time, 
until, by another noble imprudence, he managed to offend a 
semiroyal personage, Giovanni de' Medici, by giving his real 
opinion, when consulted, about a machine which De' Medici had 
invented for cleaning out the harbor of Leghorn. He said it was 
as useless as it in fact turned out to be. Through the influence 
of the mortified inventor he lost favor at court ; and his enemies 
took advantage of the fact to render his chair untenable. He 
resigned before his three years were up, and retired to Florence. 

His father at this time died, and the family were left in nar- 
row circumstances. He had a brother and three sisters to pro- 
vide for. He was offered a professorship at Padua for six years 
by the Senate of Venice, and willingly accepted it. Now began 
a very successful career. His introductory address was marked 
by brilliant eloquence, and his lectures soon acquired fame. He 
wrote for his pupils on the laws of motion, on fortifications, on 
sun-dials, on mechanics, and on the celestial globe : some of these 
papers are now lost, others have been printed during the present 

Kepler sent him a copy of his new book, Mysterium Cosmo- 
graphicum, and Galileo, in thanking him for it, writes him the fol- 
lowing letter: 

" I count myself happy, in the search after truth, to have so 
great an ally as yourself, and one who is so great a friend of the 
truth itself. It is really pitiful that there are so few who seek 
truth, and who do not pursue a perverse method of philosophiz- 
ing. But this is not the place to mourn over the miseries of our 
times, but to congratulate you on your splendid discoveries in 
confirmation of truth. I shall read your book to the end, sure of 
finding much that is excellent in it. I shall do so with the more 
pleasure, because I have been for many years an adherent of the 
Copernican system, and it explains to me the causes of many of 
the appearances of nature which are quite unintelligible on the 
commonly accepted hypothesis. / have collected many argu- 
ments jor the purpose of refuting the latter; but I do not venture 
to bring them to the light of publicity, for fear of sharing the fate 
of our master, Copernicus, who, although he has earned immor- 
tal fame with some, yet with very many (so great is the number 
of fools) has become an object of ridicule and scorn. I should 


certainly venture to publish my speculations if there were more 
people like you. But this not being the case, I refrain from such 
an undertaking." 

Kepler urged him to publish his arguments in favor of the 
Copernican theory, but he hesitated for the present, knowing that 
his declaration would be received with ridicule and opposition, 
and thinking it wiser to get rather more firmly seated in his chair 
before encountering the storm of controversy. The six years 
passed away, and the Venetian Senate, anxious not to lose so 
bright an ornament, renewed his appointment for another six 
years at a largely increased salary. 

Soon after this appeared a new star — the stella nova of 1604 — 
not the one Tycho had seen — that was in 1572 — but the same 
that Kepler was so much interested in. Galileo gave a course of 
three lectures upon it to a great audience. At the first the theatre 
was overcrowded, so he had to adjourn to a hall holding one 
thousand persons. At the next he had to lecture in the open air. 
He took occasion to rebuke his hearers for thronging to hear 
about an ephemeral novelty, while for the much more wonderful 
and important truths about the permanent stars and facts of 
nature they had but deaf ears. 

But the main point he brought out concerning the new star 
was that it upset the received Aristotelian doctrine of the immu- 
tability of the heavens. According to that doctrine the heavens 
were unchangeable, perfect, subject neither to growth nor to de- 
cay. Here was a body, not a meteor but a real distant star, which 
had not been visible and which would shortly fade away again, 
but which meanwhile was brighter than Jupiter. 

The staff of petrified professorial wisdom were annoyed at 
the appearance of the star, still more at Galileo's calling public 
attention to it; and controversy began at Padua. However, he 
accepted it, and now boldly threw down the gauntlet in favor 
of the Copernican theory, utterly repudiating the old Ptolemaic 
system, which up to that time he had taught in the schools accord- 
ing to established custom. 

The earth no longer the only world to which all else in the fir- 
mament were obsequious attendants, but a mere insignificant 
speck among the host of heaven! Man no longer the centre and 
cynosure of creation, but, as it were, an insect crawling on the 


surface of this little speck ! All this not set down in crabbed Latin 
in dry folios for a few learned monks, as in Copernicus' time, 
but promulgated and argued in rich Italian, illustrated by anal- 
ogy, by experiment, and with cultured wit; taught not to a few 
scholars here and there in musty libraries, but proclaimed in the 
vernacular to the whole populace with all the energy and enthu- 
siasm of a recent convert and a master of language ! Had a bomb- 
shell been exploded among the fossilized professors it had been 
less disturbing. 

But there was worse in store for them. A Dutch optician, 
Hans Lippershey by name, of Middleburg, had in his shop a cu- 
rious toy, rigged up, it is said, by an apprentice, and made out 
of a couple of spectacle lenses, whereby, if one looked through 
it, the weather- cock of a neighboring church spire was seen nearer 
and upside down. The tale goes that the Marquis Spinola, hap- 
pening to call at the shop, was struck with the toy and bought it. 
He showed it to Prince Maurice of Nassau, who thought of using 
it for military reconnoitring. All this is trivial. What is impor- 
tant is that some faint and inaccurate echo of this news found its 
way to Padua and into the ears of Galileo. 

The seed fell on good soil. All that night he sat up and pon- 
dered. He knew about lenses and magnifying-glasses. He had 
read Kepler's theory of the eye, and had himself lectured on op- 
tics. Could he not hit on the device and make an instrument 
capable of bringing the heavenly bodies nearer? Who knew 
what marvels he might not so perceive! By morning he had 
some schemes ready to try, and one of them was successful. Sin- 
gularly enough it was not the same plan as the Dutch optician's : 
it was another mode of achieving the same end. He took an old 
small organ-pipe, jammed a suitably chosen spectacle glass into 
either end, one convex, the other concave, and, behold ! he had 
the half of a wretchedly bad opera-glass capable of magnifying 
three times. It was better than the Dutchman's, however : it did 
not invert. 

Such a thing as Galileo made may now be bought at a toy- 
shop for I suppose half a crown, and yet what a potentiality lay 
in that "glazed optic tube," as Milton called it. Away he went 
with it to Venice and showed it to the Seigniory, to their great as- 
tonishment. "Many noblemen and senators," says Galileo, 


" though of advanced age, mounted to the top of one of the high- 
est towers to watch the ships, which were visible through my 
glass two hours before they were seen entering the harbor, for it 
makes a thing fifty miles off as near and clear as if it were only 
five." Among the people, too, the instrument excited the greatest 
astonishment and interest, so that he was nearly mobbed. The 
Senate hinted to him that a present of the instrument would not 
be unacceptable, so Galileo took the hint and made another for 
them. They immediately doubled his salary at Padua, making 
it one thousand florins, and confirmed him in the enjoyment of 
it for life. 

He now eagerly began the construction of a larger and better 
instrument. Grinding the lenses with his own hands with con- 
summate skill, he succeeded in making a telescope magnifying 
thirty times. Thus equipped he was ready to begin a survey of 
the heavens. The first object he carefully examined was naturally 
the moon. He found there everything at first sight very like 
the earth, mountains and valleys, craters and plains, rocks, and 
apparently seas. You may imagine the hostility excited among 
the Aristotelian philosophers, especially, no doubt, those he had 
left behind at Pisa, on the ground of his spoiling the pure, smooth, 
crystalline, celestial face of the moon as they had thought it, and 
making it harsh and rugged, and like so vile and ignoble a body 
as the earth. 

He went further, however, into heterodoxy than this : he not 
only made the moon like the earth, but he made the earth shine 
like the moon. The visibility of " the old moon in the new moon's 
arms" he explained by earth-shine. Leonardo had given the 
same explanation a century before. Now, one of the many stock 
arguments against Copernican theory of the earth being a planet 
like the rest was that the earth was dull and dark and did not 
shine. Galileo argued that it shone just as much as the moon 
does, and in fact rather more — especially if it be covered with 
clouds. One reason of the peculiar brilliancy of Venus is that 
she is a very cloudy planet. 1 Seen from the moon the earth 
would look exactly as the moon does to us, only a little brighter 
and sixteen times as big — four times the diameter. 

1 It is of course the "silver lining" of clouds that outside observers 


Wherever Galileo turned his telescope new stars appeared. 
The Milky Way, which had so puzzled the ancients, was found 
to be composed of stars. Stars that appeared single to the eye 
were some of them found to be double; and at intervals were 
found hazy nebulous wisps, some of which seemed to be star 
clusters, while others seemed only a fleecy cloud. 

Now we come to his most brilliant, at least his most sensa- 
tional, discovery. Examining Jupiter minutely on January 7, 
1 610, he noticed three little stars near it, which he noted down 
as fixing its then position. On the following night Jupiter had 
moved to the other side of the three stars. This was natural 
enough, but was it moving the right way? On examination it 
appeared not. Was it possible the tables were wrong? The 
next evening was cloudy, and he had to curb his feverish im- 
patience. On the 10th there were only two, and those on the 
other side. On the nth two again, but one bigger than the 
other. On the 12th the three reappeared, and on the 13th there 
were four. No more appeared. Jupiter, then, had moons like the 
earth — four of them in fact ! — and they revolved round him in 
periods which were soon determined. 

The news of the discovery soon spread and excited the great- 
est interest and astonishment. Many of course refused to believe 
it. Some there were who, having been shown them, refused to be- 
lieve their eyes, and asserted that although the telescope acted 
well enough for terrestrial objects, it was altogether false and illu- 
sory when applied to the heavens. Others took the safer ground 
of refusing to look through the glass. One of these who would 
not look at the satellites happened to die soon afterward. "I 
hope," says Galileo, "that he saw them on his way to heaven." 

The way in which Kepler received the news is characteristic, 
though by adding four to the supposed number of planets it 
might have seemed to upset his notions about the five regular 

He says: "I was sitting idle at home thinking of you, most 
excellent Galileo, and your letters, when the news was brought 
me of the discovery of four planets by the help of the double eye- 
glass. Wachenfels stopped his carriage at my door to tell me, 
when such a fit of wonder seized me at a report which seemed so 
very absurd, and I was thrown into such agitation at seeing an 


old dispute between us decided in this way, that between his joy, 
my coloring, and the laughter of us both, confounded as we were 
by such a novelty, we were hardly capable, he of speaking, or I of 

" On our separating, I immediately fell to thinking how there 
could be any addition to the number of planets without over- 
turning my Mysterium Cosmo graphicon, published thirteen years 
ago, according to which Euclid's five regular solids do not allow 
more than six planets round the sun. But I am so far from dis- 
believing the existence of the four circumjovial planets that I 
long for a telescope to anticipate you if possible in discovering 
two round Mars — as the proportion seems to me to require — six 
or eight round Saturn, and one each round Mercury and Ve- 

As an illustration of the opposite school I will take the fol- 
lowing extract from Francesco Sizzi, a Florentine astronomer, 
who argues against the discovery thus: 

" There are seven windows in the head — two nostrils, two 
eyes, two ears, and a mouth; so in the heavens there are two fa- 
vorable stars, two unpropitious, two luminaries, and Mercury 
alone undecided and indifferent. From which and many other 
similar phenomena of nature, such as the seven metals, etc., 
which it were tedious to enumerate, we gather that the number 
of planets is necessarily seven. 

"Moreover, the satellites are invisible to the naked eye, and 
therefore can have no influence on the earth, and therefore would 
be useless, and therefore do not exist. 

" Besides, the Jews and other ancient nations as well as mod- 
ern Europeans have adopted the division of the week into seven 
days, and have named them from the seven planets: now if we 
increase the number of the planets this whole system falls to the 
ground.' ' 

To these arguments Galileo replied that whatever their force 
might be as a reason for believing beforehand that no more than 
seven planets would be discovered, they hardly seemed of suffi- 
cient weight to destroy the new ones when actually seen. Writ- 
ing to Kepler at this time, Galileo ejaculates: 

"Oh, my dear Kepler, how I wish that we could have one 
hearty laugh together ! Here, at Padua, is the principal professor 


of philosophy whom I have repeatedly and urgently requested to 
look at the moon and planets through my glass, which he perti- 
naciously refuses to do. Why are you not here ? What shouts of 
laughter we should have at this glorious folly! And to hear the 
professor of philosophy at Pisa laboring before the Grand Duke 
with logical arguments, as if with magical incantations, to charm 
the new planets out of the sky." 

A young German protdgeoi Kepler, Martin Horkey, was trav- 
elling in Italy, and meeting Galileo at Bologna was favored 
with a view through his telescope. But supposing that Kepler 
must necessarily be jealous of such great discoveries, and think- 
ing to please him, he writes : " I cannot tell what to think about 
these observations. They are stupendous, they are wonderful, 
but whether they are true or false I cannot tell." He concludes, 
" I will never concede his four new planets to that Italian from 
Padua, though I die for it." So he published a pamphlet assert- 
ing that reflected rays and optical illusions were the sole cause of 
the appearance, and that the only use of the imaginary planets 
was to gratify Galileo's thirst for gold and notoriety. 

When after this performance he paid a visit to his old in- 
structor Kepler he got a reception which astonished him. How- 
ever, he pleaded so hard to be forgiven that Kepler restored him 
to partial favor, on this condition, that he was to look again at 
the satellites, and this time to see them and own that they were 

By degrees the enemies of Galileo were compelled to confess 
to the truth of the discovery, and the next step was to outdo him. 
Scheiner counted five, Rheiter nine, and others went as high as 
twelve. Some of these were imaginary, some were fixed stars, 
and four satellites only are known to this day. 1 

Here, close to the summit of his greatness, we must leave him 
for a time. A few steps more and he will be on the brow of the 
hill; a short piece of table-land, and then the descent begins. 

In dealing with these historic events will you allow me to re- 
pudiate once for all the slightest sectarian bias or meaning ? I 
have nothing to do with Catholic or Protestant as such. I have 
nothing to do with the Church of Rome as such. I am dealing 

1 A fifth satellite of Jupiter has been recently discovered ; and Kepler's 
guess at two moons for Mars has also been justified. 


with the history of science. But historically at one period science 
and the Church came into conflict. It was not specially one 
church rather than another — it was the Church in general, the 
only one that then existed in those countries. Historically, I say, 
they came into conflict, and historically the Church was the 
conqueror. It got its way; and science, in the persons of Bruno, 
Galileo, and several others, was vanquished. Such being the 
facts, there is no help but to mention them in dealing with the 
history of science. Doubtless now the Church regards it as an 
unhappy victory, and gladly would ignore this painful struggle. 
This, however, is impossible. With their creed the churchmen 
of that day could act in no other way. They were bound to pros- 
ecute heresy, and they were bound to conquer in the struggle 
or be themselves shattered. 

But let me insist on the fact that no one accuses the ecclesias- 
tical courts of crime or evil motives. They attacked heresy after 
their manner, as the civil courts attacked witchcraft after their 
manner. Both erred grievously, but both acted with the best 

We must remember, moreover, that his doctrines were sci- 
entifically heterodox, and the university professors of that day 
were probably quite as ready so condemn them as the Church 
was. To realize the position we must think of some subjects 
which to-day are scientifically heterodox, and of the customary 
attitude adopted toward them by persons of widely differing 

If it be contended now, as it is, that the ecclesiastics treated 
Galileo well, I admit it freely: they treated him as well as they 
possibly could. They overcame him, and he recanted ; but if he 
had not recanted, if he had persisted in his heresy, they would — 
well, they would still have treated his soul well, but they would 
have set fire to his body. Their mistake consisted not in cruelty, 
but in supposing themselves the arbiters of eternal truth; and 
by no amount of slurring and glossing over facts can they evade 
the responsibility assumed by them on account of this mistaken 

We left Galileo standing at his telescope and beginning his 
survey of the heavens. We followed him indeed through a 
few of his first great discoveries — the discovery of the mountains 


and other variety of surface in the moon, of the nebulae and 
a multitude of faint stars, and lastly of the four satellites of 

This latter discovery made an immense sensation, and con- 
tributed its share to his removal from Padua, which quickly fol- 
lowed it. Before the end of the year 1610 Galileo had made an- 
other discovery — this time on Saturn. But to guard against the 
host of plagiarists and impostors he published it in the form of 
an anagram, which, at the request of the Emperor Rudolph — a 
request probably inspired by Kepler — he interpreted ; it ran thus : 
The farthest planet is triple. 

Very soon after he found that Venus was changing from a 
full-moon to a half-moon appearance. He announced this also 
by an anagram, and waited till it should become a crescent, which 
it did. This was a dreadful blow to the anti-Copernicans, for it 
removed the last lingering difficulty to the reception of the Co- 
pernican doctrine. Copernicus had predicted, indeed, a hun- 
dred years before, that, if ever our powers of sight were suffi- 
ciently enhanced, Venus and Mercury would be seen to have 
phases like the moon. And now Galileo with his telescope veri- 
fies the prediction to the letter. 

Here was a triumph for the grand old monk, and a bitter 
morsel for his opponents. 

Castelli writes, "This must now convince the most obsti- 
nate.' ' But Galileo, with more experience, replies: " You almost 
make me laugh by saying that these clear observations are suffi- 
cient to convince the most obstinate; it seems you have yet to 
learn that long ago the observations were enough to convince 
those who are capable of reasoning and those who wish to learn 
the truth ; but that to convince the obstinate and those who care 
for nothing beyond the vain applause of the senseless vulgar, not 
even the testimony of the stars would suffice, were they to de- 
scend on earth to speak for themselves. Let us, then, endeavor 
to procure some knowledge for ourselves, and rest contented 
with this sole satisfaction ; but of advancing in popular opinion, 
or of gaining the assent of the book-philosophers, let us abandon 
both the hope and the desire. " 

What a year's work it had been! In twelve months observa- 
tional astronomy had made such a bound as it has never made 


before or since. 1 Why did not others make any of these observa- 
tions ? Because no one could make telescopes like Galileo. He 
gathered pupils round him, however, and taught them how to 
work the lenses, so that gradually these instruments penetrated 
Europe, and astronomers everywhere verified his splendid dis- 

1 The next year Galileo discovered also the spots upon the sun and 
estimated roughly its time of rotation. 


A.D. l6l2 


By chartering the original English East India Company, Queen Eliza- 
beth took the first step toward establishing that empire in the Orient 
which has since become such an important appanage of the British 
crown. This oldest English company in India is also called the " Mother 
Company " and the "John Company." It began English trade with In- 
dia, and its operations prepared the way for British government in that 
vast country. 

After the Portuguese discovery of the passage round Africa, toward 
the end of the fifteenth century, other European nations for some time 
appeared to recognize Portugal's exclusive claim to the navigation of that 
route. In 15 10 the Portuguese made a permanent settlement in India at 
Goa. But during this century the Dutch obtained a foothold in the coun- 
try, and in 1580 Portugal was conquered by Spain. 

Dutch enterprise and the Spanish absorption of Portugal's Indian 
establishments aroused the commercial spirit of England. In 1599 an 
English association was formed, with a large fund, "for trade to the East 
Indies." In December, 1600, Queen Elizabeth granted this association a 
charter, incorporating the " Adventurers " under the title of " the Governor 
and Company of Merchants of London trading into the East Indies." 
The company was allowed unlimited rights of purchasing lands, and a 
fifteen years' monopoly of trade. In 1609 the charter was renewed and 
made perpetual by James I ; but at first the company appears to have 
done no very extensive business. The beginning of its more active ca- 
reer, in the midst of grave difficulties and conflicts, is well described by 
Willson, whose history thus covers an important period in the develop- 
ment of India and in the expansion of British power. 

\A/HEN the East India Company had been in existence 
eleven years it possessed hardly more than the rudiments 
of factories in the Indies, while the Dutch boasted fully a dozen 
regularly established trading- settlements, from most of which 
they had ejected the Spaniards and Portuguese. 

France, no longer restrained by Spain and the Pope, naturally 
looked jealously on these efforts of Englishmen and Dutchmen 



to exploit the East to their own advantage. In 1609 we learn 
that the subjects of Henry IV, "who had long aspired to make 
themselves strong by sea," took the opportunity of a treaty made 
between James I and the French King to "set on foot this in- 
vention, a society to trade into the East Indies," with a capital 
of four million crowns. Becher, the English ambassador at 
Paris, wrote in 1609 to Lord Salisbury that Dutch seamen were 
being "engaged at great pay and many of their ships bought." 
The States- General strongly remonstrated against this proceed- 
ing, and threatened to "board the French ships wherever they 
found them, and hang all Flemings found in them." This 
threat appears to have been effectual, and the project was aban- 
doned. A little later, in 161 4, the French again projected taking 
part in the East India trade, and accounts were current in Lon- 
don concerning ships and patents from King Louis, but this, too, 
ended lamely and nothing practical was effected for full half a 

The company always had before it the danger of attack by 
Spanish or Portuguese, and its captains and agents were put per- 
petually on their guard. But it never seems to have occurred 
to the court of committees that there was any danger to be appre- 
hended from the Dutch, so that they were all the more astonished 
and chagrined at the failure to establish trade with the Moluc- 
cas, where the natives were so friendly to the English and offered 
them every facility, but, owing to Dutch oppression, in vain. 

In the first voyage James Lancaster had established factories 
at Achin and Bantam. In the second voyage Sir Henry Middle- 
ton was instructed to endeavor to found a factory on the island 
of Banda. He carried on some trade, but neither he nor his suc- 
cessor in the third voyage, Captain Keeling, was able to override 
the opposition of the Dutch and secure a foothold. In the in- 
structions issued to the last-named he was requested to establish, 
if possible, a factory at Aden, from whence he was to proceed to 
the Gulf of Cambay, seeking a good harbor there "for the main- 
tenance of a trade in those parts hereafter in safety from the 
danger of the Portuguese, or other enemies, endeavoring also 
to learn whether the King of Cambay or Surat, or any of his 
havens, be in subjection to the Portuguese — and what havens of 
his are not ? — together with the dangers and depths of the water, 


there for passage, that by this certain notice and diligent inquiry 
— which we wish to be set down in writing for the company's 
better information — whereby we may hereafter attempt further 
trade there, or otherwise desist." 

In no fighting mood, therefore, was the company — whatever 
their servants' views — but prudently inclined to keep out of the 
way of the once terrible and still dreaded Portuguese. In vain, 
as we have seen, did Captain Hawkins exert himself to obtain 
concessions from the Grand Mogul which would survive the 
displeasure of his European rivals, who had by their ships, arms, 
and intrigues completely terrified the governors and petty rajahs 
of the coast. 

In 1611 Anthony Hippon, in the Globe, sailed for the Coro- 
mandel (or Madras) coast with the object of setting a factory, if 
possible, at Pulicat, and sharing in the port-to-port trade which 
the Dutch had lately built up there. The idea seems to have 
originated with a couple of Dutchmen, named Floris and An- 
theunis, formerly in the Dutch service, who were charged with 
the management of the business. So far as Pulicat was con- 
cerned, the scheme failed, but the captain of the Globe, resolved 
to land his factory somewhere, lit upon Pettapoli, farther up 
the coast, where he arrived on August 18, 161 1. This was the 
company's first settlement in the Bay of Bengal. But although 
the reception from the local governor and the King of Golconda 
was friendly, yet the place proved to be a deadly swamp and the 
trade was small. 

When the landing of certain factors and merchandise had 
thus taken place at Pettapoli, Captain Hippon set sail farther 
northward to the ancient port of Masulipatam, which, forming 
"a coveted roadstead on the open coast line of Madras," was 
destined to be the theatre of much truculent rivalry between 
the European traders on the Coromandel coast. Here, on the 
last day of August, Hippon and Floris landed, and a factory was 
set up. A cargo of calicoes was duly obtained, whereupon the 
Globe departed for Bantam and the Far East to seek spices and 
pepper in exchange. Such were the beginnings of English trade 
on the east of the Indian peninsula. Two years later the com- 
pany's servants received from the Hindu King of Vitayanagar a 
firman to build a fort, written on a leaf of gold — a document 


which was preserved at Madras until its capture by the French 
in the next century. 

Following hard upon their summary dismissal from Surat, 
Middleton, Hawkins, and the rest, disinclined for their masters' 
sake to come to close quarters with the Dutch in the Spice Islands, 
directed their views to the establishment of a factory at Dabul. 
In this likewise they failed. In despair at not procuring a cargo, 
they went in for piracy and fierce retaliation upon the Turkish 
authorities for their treatment of them in the Red Sea. A couple 
of vessels hailing from Cochin were captured, and some cloves, 
cinnamon, wax, bales of china silk, and rice were taken out of 
them and removed to the ship Trade's Increase. 

In the midst of a lively blockade of the Red Sea ports they 
were joined by Captain John Saris, with four ships, belonging to 
the company's eighth voyage, who agreed to lend his forces for 
whatever the combined fleets undertook, if granted a third of the 
profits for the benefit of his particular set of subscribers. All 
this anomalous confusion between the various interests within 
the same body corporate could have but one issue. The rival 
commanders took to quarrelling over the disposition of the 
hundred thousand pieces-of-eight which Middleton hoped to 
squeeze out of the Governor of Mocha for outrages upon the 
English fleet. Strife ran high between them, and in the end 
Saris in the Clove and Towerson in the Hector sailed away from 
the Red Sea, leaving Middleton and Downton to settle matters 
on their own account. 

Powerless to obtain compensation from the Governor of 
Mocha, Middleton proceeded to make unceremonious levy on all 
the shipping he could lay his hands upon. On August 16th the 
Trade's Increase set sail, in company with the Peppercorn, for 
Tiku, where two others of the company's ships were anchored. 
Middleton very soon discovered that the Trade's Increase was 
in a leaky condition; he had hardly got her out of Tiku when she 
ran aground — for the second time in her brief history. She was 
floated and brought opposite Pulo Panzang, in Bantam Bay, 
where the cargo was taken out and stored on shore. The ship, 
which King James had christened and in which Sir Henry Mid- 
dleton took such pride, was careened on the beach for repairs. 
During the process a renegade Spaniard formed a plot to burn 
e., vol. xi. — 3. 


her to the water's edge, and one night carried it successfully into 
execution — a catastrophe which is said to have so affected the 
doughty old commander, Sir Henry Middleton, that he sickened 
and died at Bantam, May 24, 1613. 

The many exploits of Middleton, the doyen of the company's 
servants in the East, well deserve to be read: the hardships he 
had suffered, the difficulties he had to contend with, the jealous 
cabals of which he had been the victim. Among the many in- 
subordinates that prevailed, Captain Nicholas Downton, one of 
the ablest commanders in the service, was not to be persuaded, 
despite the plots and schemes occasionally undertaken for that 
purpose, to abandon the respect and loyalty he owed the old sea- 
dog. Once, when in the Red Sea, Middleton wrote sharply to 
Downton for an alleged fault; the latter was filled " with admira- 
tion and grief." 

" Sir," he replied, "I can write nothing so plain, nor with that 
sincerity, but malicious men, when they list, may make injurious 
construction; but evil come to me if I meant ill to Sir Henry 
Middleton or any part of the business. God be judge between 
him and me, if ever I deserved the least evil thought from him. 
I desire that he were so much himself that he would neither be 
led nor carried by any injurious person to abuse an inseparable 

Wholly ignorant of the fate reserved for Middleton and the 
"mightie merchantman," the Trade's Increase, Downton re- 
sumed command of the Peppercorn and returned direct to Eng- 
land with a full cargo. Many times her timbers sprang aleak on 
the voyage — for she was but a jerry-built craft at best — but she 
finally got into the harbor of Waterford, September 13, 16 13. 
Here the rudest of rude welcomes awaited Downton. He was 
visited by the sheriff and arrested on a warrant from the Earl 
of Ormond, charged with committing piracy. But, for the 
present, the plots of his and Middleton's enemies miscarried; 
their victim was released, and in a few weeks' time was back in 
the Thames. Downton's proved zeal and endurance won him 
the applause and favor of the merchant adventurers, and the 
command of the first voyage under the joint-stock system in the 
following year. 

Meanwhile, each year the company had been sending out 


a small fleet of ships to the East ; it was now beginning also to 
receive communications from its agents and factors, who, as we 
have seen, were being slowly distributed at various points east 
of Aden. Irregular as the receipt of these advices was, and in- 
complete and belated in themselves, they yet were a useful guide 
to the company in equipping its new ventures. 

"We are in great hope to get good and peaceful trade at 
Cambay and Surat," writes Anthony Marlowe to the company 
from Socotra, "where our ship, by God's grace, is to ride. Our 
cloth and lead, we hear, will sell well there; our iron not so well 
as at Aden; that indigo we shall have good store at reasonable 
rates; and also calicoes and musk, and at Dabul good pepper; 
so as I hope in God the Hector shall make her voyage at those 
places and establish a trade there, to the benefit of your worships 
and the good of our country." 

For Captain Keeling, Marlowe has many words of praise. 
a His wisdom, language, and carriage are such as I fear we shall 
have great want of at Surat in the first settling of our trade." 
Of some of the other servants of the company Marlowe is not so 
enthusiastic, and he does not spare his opinion of their char- 
acters. In a subsequent letter we are brought right face to face 
with a very pretty quarrel between Hippon, the master of the 
Dragon, and his mate, William Tavernour, in which Hawkins 
tries to act as peacemaker, but is foiled by the bloodthirsty 
Matthew Mullinux, master of the Hector, who had himself a 
private grudge against the said Tavernour, or, as is written here, 
"a poniard in pickle for the space of six months." 

"And not contented with this (he) afterward came up upon 
the deck and there before the boatswain and certain of us did 
most unchristianlike speak these words: that if he might but 
live to have the opportunity to kill the said Tavernour he would 
think it to be the happiest day that ever he saw in his life, an it 
were but with a knife." 

There seems to have been a surfeit of these internecine 
brawls for some time to come, and, indeed, stories of dissensions 
among the servants of the company in the East are plentifully 
sprinkled throughout its history, both in this century and the 
next. Of hints for trade the company's agents are profuse in 
this growing correspondence. 


" There is an excellent linen," writes one of them, "made at 
Cape Comorin, and may be brought hither from Cochin in great 
abundance if the Portugals would be quiet men. It is about 
two yards broad or better and very strong cloth, and is called 
cachade Comoree. It would certainly sell well in England for 
sheeting." Here we see the genesis of the calico trade. 

The company is informed that "if Moorish girdles, Turks, 
and cloaks will yield any profit, I pray give advice. They are 
here in abundance and the great chief merchandise. There is 
also a market for cloth of all kinds of light and pleasing colors, 
pleasing to the eye, as Venice reds, stamels, some few scarlets for 
presents, and also to sell to great men, popinjay greens of the 
brightest dye, cinnamon colors, light dove colors, peach colors, 
silver colors, light yellows with others like, but no dark or sad 
colors, for here they are not vendible. Those of the last voyage 
are yet upon our hands and will not be sold for the monies that 
they cost in England." Thenceforward, it is to be supposed, 
the company bought no more of the "suitings of the Puritans," 
then growing to be the vogue at home. 

"Of new drinking-glasses, trenchers for sweetmeats, but 
especially looking-glasses of all sorts and different prices — but 
not small baubles — some reasonable quantity would be sold to 
good profit, and I verily suppose that some fair large looking- 
glass would be highly accepted of this King, for he affects not 
the value in anything, but rarity in everything, insomuch that 
some pretty new-fangled toys would give him high content, 
though their value were small, for he wants no worldly wealth 
or riches, possessing an inestimable treasury, and is, it is thought, 
herein far exceeding the Great Turk." 

Throughout all their reports and epistles the captains and fac- 
tors appear above all anxious to establish themselves on the main- 
land, and express much indignation at the conduct of Macarab 
Khan, the Mogul's vizier, at his juggling with their hopes. 

"If it please God we attain Surat," sighs one of the factors, 
"how comfortable it will be to those there, beneficial to the trade, 
and commodious to your worship." Jostled aside, tormented 
by the Dutch in the eastern archipelago and by the Turks in the 
Red Sea, what wonder that the company and its servants now 
longed to displace the Portuguese in India itself ? 


At home the company had despatched, in 161 2, as its tenth 
expedition, three vessels. They comprised the stout old Dragon, 
commanded by Captain Thomas Best; the Solomon, alias the 
James, and the Hoseander. Was the new effort of Best and 
Kerridge, one of his supercargoes, to establish a factory at Surat 
to be more successful than that of Middleton in 16 10? 

While the Solomon was forthwith ordered elsewhere in search 
of trade, Best, with the other two vessels, reached Swally, near the 
mouth of the Surat River, early in the month of September, 161 2. 
Here Kerridge, disembarking with several companions, was well 
received by the native merchants and inhabitants, although gain- 
ing the disapprobation of the Portuguese. He obtained per- 
mission to land some broadcloths, lead, iron, and quicksilver, 
procuring in exchange for these such Surat merchandise as the 
company had recommended him to acquire as suitable for the 
purchase of pepper and spices at Achin and Bantam. 

In the midst of these agreeable transactions the Portuguese 
swept down upon the company's men, with four ships, mounting 
one hundred twenty-four guns, besides a large flotilla of small 
native galleys. As they advanced, thinking to cut him off and 
board him, Captain Best perceived, with the intuition of the 
trained mariner, the weakness of their formation. He called 
out to Captain Pettie, of the Hoseander, to follow him, and, 
singling out the two largest of the Portuguese vessels, prepared to 
dash straight for them, his gunners, half naked, standing ready 
and alert for the word of command which [should begin the 

But to Best's confusion the Hoseander budged not a rod, 
being gripped fast by her anchors. In this predicament there 
was nothing for it. Best must close with the enemy single- 
handed. Placing his Red Dragon between the Portuguese ad- 
miral and vice-admiral, the company's commander gave orders 
to the gunners, and the battle commenced by the firing of a 
double broadside, which "well peppered" the enemy, who re- 
sponded by splintering the Englishman's mainmast and sinking 
his long-boat. 

"Having exchanged some forty great shot of each side," 
reports an eye-witness of the battle to the company, "the night 
being come they anchored in sight of each other, and the next 


morning our ships weighed again and began their fight again, 
which continued some three hours, in which time they drove 
three of their galleons on the sands. And so our ships came to 
anchor, and in the afternoon weighed anchor, in which time the 
flood being come the galleons, with the help of the frigates, were 
afloat again." 

Yet there was to be more and fiercer fighting against even 
greater odds before the Portuguese had had their fill of the Eng- 
lish off Swally. After an attempt on their part to set fire to 
the Hoseander by means of a fire-ship, which utterly failed, 
and cost the Portuguese a hundred lives, the company's ships 
sailed away on December ist, thinking to draw the enemy after 
them. But not succeeding in this, Best anchored at Moha to 
await their pleasure. It was not until December 2 2d that the 
enemy bore up, having been strengthened by ships and men 
from Diu. The shores were lined with spectators to see Best 
gallantly front them with his two ships' colors flying. 

This time it seemed as if Best and his men were doomed, yet 
to the astonishment, not merely of the natives and Portuguese, 
but of the company's servants themselves, they were victorious 
in this engagement. On the following day, at the close of an- 
other battle, the enemy, dazed and staggering from so much 
fighting and bloodshed, abruptly turned and fled, trailing their 
wrecked flotilla behind them. Nothing can convey a better idea 
of the overwhelming superiority of the company gunners and 
ordnance, as well as of the matchless audacity of their onslaught, 
than the fact of their having lost but three slain, while the Por- 
tuguese list of killed was upward of three hundred. Not only 
this, but Best's two ships were still in good condition. 

On December 27th the Dragon and the Hoseander returned 
triumphantly to Surat, where a number of the company's fac- 
tors and supercargoes were, as may be imagined, anxiously 
awaiting them. It was felt by most, on hearing the good news, 
that the promised firman of the Great Mogul would not be long 
delayed; but Best, worn out with fighting, was by no means so 
sanguine, and ordered Aldworth and the other factors to repair 
on board the fleet at once, with such merchandise as they had. 
But Aldworth, even after most of the others had given in to the 
"General's" views, insisted that Best's victory over the Portu- 


guese had removed the opposition of the Mogul, who would 
surely despatch his firman. This was corroborated by Kerridge, 
who had gone to Agra to deliver a letter from King James to the 
Mogul. But Best had no relish for Aldworth's stubbornness, 
as he called it, and summoned a council "and so required the 
said Thomas Aldworth to come on board, which he again refused 
to do, for that he heard certainly the firman was coming." 

Aldworth's confidence was rewarded, for just as Best was 
about to depart, Jehangir's decree, granting the company a factory 
at Surat and at three other places about the Gulf of Cambay, ar- 
rived bearing joy to the bosoms of the English traders. 

At Agra, it appeared from Kerridge 's account, he had been 
admitted to the monarch's chamber, where Jehangir "sat on his 
bed, newly risen from sleep." In his first letters Kerridge com- 
plains of a chilly reception and attributes it to his coming empty- 
handed. "No other treatment," he says, "is to be expected 
without continual gifts both to the King and others." 

The character of Jehangir was described by Kerridge as 
"extremely proud and covetous," taking himself "to be the 
greatest monarch in the world," yet a "drunkard" and "given 
over to vice." The Mogul, however, was very fond of music, 
and revelled in Robert Trulley's cornet, though virginals were 
not esteemed, "perhaps because the player was not sufficiently 
expert," and "it is thought Lawes died with conceit at the King's 
indifference." Nevertheless, on the whole, Jehangir behaved 
civilly to the company's envoy, whose success in obtaining an 
audience was quickly followed up by Aldworth in sending Will- 
iam Edwards, who took with him from Surat "great presents," 
including portraits of King James and his Queen, and "one that 
will content the Mogul above all, the picture of Tamberlane, 
from whence he derives himself." At last, then, the coveted 
firman "for kind usage of the English, free trade, and so forth," 
was gained, Edwards remaining in Agra as "lieger" or ambas- 
sador, "which will be needful among this inconstant people." 

By the terms of the firman a duty on imports of 3J per cent, 
was to be exacted; but on the other hand no damages were to 
be claimed for Sir Henry Middleton's piratical exploits, and the 
company's factories were to be protected by law in event of any 
calamity overtaking its servants. 


To Aldworth undoubtedly belongs the credit of having ne- 
gotiated this concession, but it is doubtful if it would ever have 
received the imperial sanction had it not been for Best's victory. 
Even when he had the document in his hands the conqueror 
was diffident, and could hardly believe the good news. He was 
" doubtful whether it was the King's firman or not, and, being 
resolved, would not receive it until some of the chiefs of the city 
should bring it down unto him to Swally, which in fine they did. 
And the very day following the receipt of it, being the 4th, the 
galleons were again in sight, but came not near to proffer fight. 
Notwithstanding, the general resolved not to make any longer 
stay there, but took in such goods as were ready, and landed the 
rest of the cloth, quicksilver, and vermilion, all the elephants' 
teeth, and some twelve hundred bars of lead, carrying the rest 
along with him, as also all the pieces-of-eight and iron, and so, 
the 1 8th present, departed." 

In such manner did the company gain at last a certain foot- 
hold in the Mogul empire. The factors stationed at the new 
post reported that Surat was the best situation in India to vend 
English goods, particularly broadcloths, kerseys, quicksilver, 
lead, and vermilion, to be exchanged for indigo, calicoes, cotton 
yarn, and drugs, and added a list of such goods as might annually 
be disposed of there. They requested the merchant adventur- 
ers in London to send them some four thousand pieces of broad- 
cloth, sword-blades, knives, and looking-glasses. They hinted 
that toys and English bull-dogs should be sent as presents. But 
the new trade, they were careful to explain, could only be pro- 
tected by stationing five or six ships in the river at Surat to defend 
the factory and its occupants against the Portuguese. 

On his return home Best was summoned to Philport lane to 
give a detailed account of his exploits, and was considered by 
the court to have " deserved extraordinarily well." Yet his 
"great private trade," whereby he had enriched himself, caused 
some dissatisfaction, and the governor, Sir Thomas Smythe, 
while admitting that no one could be a fitter commander than 
Best, thought that " Captain Keeling was far before him for 
merchandise, and so should command at Surat." But this did 
not satisfy the victor of Swally. Unless he were allowed private 
trade he refused to make another voyage for the company, and 


finally insisted on an investigation into his conduct. The upshot 
was that the company was " content to remit all that is past and 
let these things die, which should not have been ripped up had 
he not called them in question himself. ,, 

The various inconveniences to the company from the sepa- 
rate classes of adventurers being enabled to fit out equipments 
on their own particular portions of stock, finally evoked a change 
in the constitution of the company. In 161 2 it was resolved that 
in future the trade should be carried on by means of a joint stock 
only, and on the basis of this resolution the then prodigious 
sum of four hundred twenty-nine thousand pounds was sub- 
scribed. Although portions of this capital were applied to the 
fitting out of four voyages, the general instructions to the com- 
manders were given in the name and by the authority of the gov- 
ernor, deputy governor, and committees of the Company of 
Merchants of London trading to the East Indies. 

The whole commerce of the company was now a joint con- 
cern, and the embarrassing principle of trading on separate vent- 
ures came to an end. Experience had amply demonstrated that 
detached equipments exposed the whole trade to danger in the 
East, in their efforts to establish trade. The first twelve voyages 
were, therefore, regarded in the light of an experiment to estab- 
lish a solid commerce between England and India. 

Upon such terms the period known as the first joint stock was 
entered upon, which comprised four voyages between the years 
1613 and 1616. The purchase, repair, and equipment of ves- 
sels during these four years amounted to two hundred seventy- 
two thousand five hundred forty-four pounds, which, with the 
stock and cargoes, made up the total sum raised among the 
members at the beginning of the period, viz., four hundred 
twenty-nine thousand pounds. 

Under this new system Captain Downton was given com- 
mand of the fleet, in the company's merchantmen, the New 
Year's Gift, thus named because it had been launched on 
January 1st — an armed ship of five hundred fifty tons — and 
three other vessels. Downton went equipped with legal as well 
as military implements. King James made him master of the 
lives of the crews, and empowered him to use martial law in 
cases of insubordination. 


"We are not ignorant," said the monarch, in the royal com- 
mission which he vouchsafed to the company's commander, "of 
the emulation and envy which doth accompany the discovery 
of countries and trade, and of the quarrels and contentions which 
do many times fall out between the subjects of divers princes 
when they meet the one with the other in foreign and far remote 
countries in prosecuting the course of their discoveries." Conse- 
quently Captain Downton was warned not to stir up bad blood 
among the nations, but if he should be by the company's rivals 
unjustly provoked he was at liberty to retaliate, but not to keep 
to himself any spoils he might take, which were to be rendered 
account of, as by ancient usage, to the King. 

Before Downton could reach his destination, the chief ener- 
gies of the company's agents in India appear to have been bent 
upon forming a series of exchanges between the west coast and 
the factory at Bantam. The little band of servants at the new 
factory at Surat, headed by the redoubtable Aldworth, gave it as 
their opinion not only that sales of English goods could be ef- 
fected at this port, but that they might be pushed to the inland 
markets and the adjoining seaports. Aldworth stated that in 
his journey to Ahmedabad he had passed through the cities of 
Baroche and Baroda, and had discovered that cotton, yarn and 
"baftees" could be bought cheaper from the manufacturers in 
that country than at Surat. At Ahmedabad he was able to buy 
indigo at a low rate, but in order to establish such a trade capital 
of from twelve to fifteen thousand pounds was required to be 
constantly in the hands of the factor. It was thought at Surat 
that it would be expedient to fix a resident at the Mogul's court 
at Agra to solicit the protection of that monarch and his min- 

Downton arrived at Surat, October 15, 1614, to find the atti- 
tude of the Portuguese toward the English more than ever hostile. 
At the same time trouble impended between the Portuguese and 
the Nawab of Surat. In order to demolish all opposition at one 
blow, the former collected their total naval force at Goa for a 
descent upon both natives and new-comers at Surat. Their 
force consisted of six large galleons, several smaller vessels, and 
sixty native barges, or "frigates" as they were called, the whole 
carrying a hundred thirty-four guns and manned by twenty- 


six hundred Europeans and six thousand natives. To meet this 
fleet, Downton had but his four ships, and three or four Indian- 
built vessels called "galivats," manned altogether with less than 
six hundred men. The appearance of the Portuguese was the 
signal for fright and submission on the part of the Nawab ; but 
his suit was contemptuously spurned by the Viceroy of Goa, who, 
on January 20th, advanced upon the company's little fleet. He 
did not attempt to force the northern entrance of Swally Hole, 
where the English lay, which would have necessitated an ap- 
proach singly, but sent on a squadron of the native " frigates" 
to cross the shoal, surround and attack the Hope, the smallest 
of the English ships, and board her. But in this they were 
foiled after a severe conflict. Numbers of the boarders were 
slain and drowned, and their frigates burned to the water's edge. 
Again and again during the ensuing three weeks did the Portu- 
guese make efforts to dislodge the English; but the dangerous 
fire-ships they launched were evaded by night and their onslaught 
repulsed by day, and so at length, with a loss of five hundred 
men, the Portuguese viceroy, on February 13th, withdrew. 

His withdrawal marked a triumph for the company's men. 
Downton was received in state by the overjoyed Nawab, who 
presented him with his own sword, "the hilt of massive gold, 
and in lieu thereof," says Downton, "I returned him my 
suit, being sword, dagger, girdle, and hangers, by me much 
esteemed of, and which made a great deal better show, though 
of less value." 

A week later Downton set out with his great fleet for Bantam. 
Just off the coast the enemy's fleet was again sighted approach- 
ing from the west. For three days the English were in momen- 
tary apprehension of an attack, but the Viceroy thought better 
of it, and on the 6th " bore up with the shore and gave over the 
hopes of their fortunes by further following of us." 


A.D. 1614 


Greater fame ordinarily attaches to the discovery of some vast region 
of the earth than to the finding or exploring of a limited coast, district, 
or river-course. There are, however, some instances in which geographi- 
cal conditions or historical developments magnify the seemingly lesser 
achievements. This has been the case with Henry Hudson's timely ex- 
ploration of the river called after him. 

The enterprising Dutch people, under whose auspices he accomplished 
this brilliant feat, had just emerged from their long contest with Spain. 
The return of peace to the Netherlands found many active spirits in readi- 
ness for fresh adventures, and Hudson's work opened for them a new and 
inviting field. 

Increasing celebrity gathered about the name of Hudson from the 
very first settlements in the remarkable region which he made known to 
the world, and which was destined to become the seat of the world's sec- 
ond — perhaps of its greatest — metropolis, and the home of an imperial 
commonwealth. The simple beginnings of this mighty growth are as 
simply but quite adequately told in the following pages from the his- 
torian of New York city. 

LJAVING explored the river which bears his name, Hudson 
put to sea on October 4th, making directly for Europe, 
with news of his discovery of this fine river and its adjacent coun- 
try, which he described as offering every inducement for settlers 
or traders that could be desired. 

Besides the fertility or the soil, which was satisfactorily shown 
by the great abundance of grain and vegetables found in the 
possession of the Indians, a still more enticing prospect was held 
out to the view of the merchant, in the abundance of valuable 
furs observed in the country, which were to be had at a very little 

Hudson had, therefore, scarcely made publicly known the 
character of the country visited by him when several merchants 
of Amsterdam fitted out trading- vessels and despatched them to 



this river. Their returns were highly satisfactory, and arrange- 
ments were immediately made to establish a settled agency here 
to superintend the collection of the furs and the trade with the 
Indians while the ships should be on their long journey between 
the two hemispheres. The agents thus employed pitched their 
cabins on the south point of Manhattan Island, the head man 
being Hendrick Corstiaensen, who was still the chief of the set- 
tlement in 16 14, at which period an English ship sailing along 
the coast from Virginia entered the harbor on a visit of obser- 
vation. Finding Corstiaensen here, with his company of traders, 
the English captain summoned him to acknowledge the juris- 
diction of Virginia over the country or else to depart. The 
former alternative was chosen by the trader, and he agreed to 
pay a small tribute to the Governor of Virginia in token of his, 
right of dominion. The Dutch were thereupon left to prosecute 
their trade without further molestation. 

The government of Holland did not, however, recognize the 
claims of England to jurisdiction over the whole American 
coast, and took measures to encourage the discovery and appro- 
priation of additional territory, by a decree giving to discov- 
erers of new countries the exclusive privilege of trading thither 
for four successive voyages, to the exclusion of all other persons. 
This enactment induced several merchants to fit out five small 
ships for coasting along the American shores in this vicinity. 
One of these vessels, commanded by Captain Block, soon after 
its arrival on the coast, was accidentally destroyed by fire. Block 
immediately began the construction of another, of thirty-eight- 
feet keel, forty-four and a half feet on deck, and eleven and a 
half feet beam, which was the first vessel launched in the waters 
of New York. She was called the Unrest, or Restless, and 
ploughed her keel through the waters of Hell Gate and the 
Sound, the pioneer of all other vessels except the bark canoes of 
the aboriginal inhabitants. 

The several ships despatched on this exploring expedition 
having returned to Holland, from their journals and surveys a 
map of a large extent of country was made, over which the 
Dutch claimed jurisdiction, and to which they gave the name of 
"New Netherlands. " The owners of these vessels, as the re- 
ward of their enterprise, were granted the promised monopoly 


of trade hither for four voyages, to be completed within three 
years, commencing on January i, 1615. 

These merchants seemed to have been composed in part of 
those who had established the first trading-post here, but having 
increased their number and capital, and enlarged their former 
designs of trade, formed themselves into a company under the 
name of the " United New Netherlands Company." Corstiaen- 
sen was continued the principal agent here, and they likewise 
established a post at the head of the river, on an island opposite 
the present site of Albany. Forts, of a rude description — be- 
ing merely enclosures of high palisades — were erected at both 

The privileges granted to the United New Netherlands Com- 
pany being, however, limited in respect to time, their establish- 
ment on this island can hardly be considered as a permanent 
settlement; the cabins of the settlers were nearly of equal rude- 
ness with those of their Indian neighbors; and but few of the 
luxuries of civilization found their way into their habitations. 
The great object of the settlement was, however, successfully 
carried on, and stores of furs were in readiness to freight the 
ships on their periodical visits from the fatherland. No inter- 
ruption of the friendly intercourse carried on with the Indians 
took place, but, on the contrary, the whites were abundantly 
supplied by the natives with food and most other necessaries of 
life, without personal labor and at trifling cost. 

The Indian tribes in the neighborhood of this trading-post 
were the Manhattans, occupying this island; the Pachamies, 
the Tankiteks, and the Wickqueskeeks, occupying the coun- 
try on the east side of Hudson River south of the Highlands; 
the Hackingsacks and the Raritans on the west side of the river 
and the Jersey shore; the Canarsees, the Rockways, the Merri- 
kokes, the Marsapeagues, the Mattinecocks, the Nissaquages, 
the Corchaugs, the Secataugs, and the Shinecocks on Long 

The trade of this colony of settlers was sufficiently profitable 
to render its permanency desirable to the United New Nether- 
lands Company, as it is found that at the termination of their 
grant, in the year 161 8, they endeavored to procure from the 
government in Holland an extension of their term, but did not 


succeed in obtaining more than a special license, expiring yearly, 
which they held for two or three subsequent years. 

In the mean time a more extensive association had been 
formed among the merchants and capitalists in Holland, which 
in the year 162 1, having matured its plans and projects, received 
a charter under the title of the West India Company. Their 
charter gave them the exclusive privilege of trade on the whole 
American coast, both of the northern and southern continents, 
so far as the jurisdiction of Holland extended. 

This great company was invested with most of the functions 
of a distinct and separate government. It was allowed to ap- 
point governors and other officers ; to settle the forms of admin- 
istering justice; to make Indian treaties and to enact laws. 

Having completed arrangements for the organization of 
its government in New Netherlands, the West India Company 
despatched its pioneer vessel hither in the year 1623. This 
was the ship New Netherlands, a stanch vessel, which continued 
her voyages to this port as a regular packet for more than thirty 
years subsequently. On board the New Netherlands were thirty 
families to begin the colony. This colony being designed for a 
settlement at the head of the river, the vessel landed her passen- 
gers and freight near the present site of Albany, where a settle- 
ment was established. The return cargo of the New Nether- 
lands was five hundred otter- skins, one thousand five hundred 
beavers, and other freight valued at about twelve thousand dol- 

It having been determined that the head- quarters of the 
company's establishment in New Netherlands should be fixed 
on Manhattan Island, preparations for a more extensive colony 
to be planted here were made, and in 1625 two ships cleared 
from Holland for this place. On board of these vessels were 
shipped one hundred three head of cattle, together with stallions, 
mares, hogs, and sheep in a proportionate number. Accompa- 
nying these were a considerable number of settlers, with their 
families, supplied with agricultural implements and seed for 
planting, household furniture, and the other necessaries for es- 
tablishing the colony. Other ships followed with similar freight, 
and the number of emigrants amounted to about two hundred 


On the arrival of the ships in the harbor the cattle were landed 
in the first instance on the island now called Governor's Island, 
where they were left on pasturage until convenient arrangements 
could be made on the mainland to prevent their straying in the 
woods. The want of water, however, compelled their speedy 
transfer to Manhattan Island, where, being put on the fresh grass, 
they generally throve well, although about twenty died, in the 
course of the season, from eating some poisonous vegetable. 

The settlers commenced their town by staking out a fort on 
the south point of the island, under the direction of one Kryn 
Frederick, an engineer sent along with them for that purpose; 
and a horse-mill having been erected, the second story of that 
building was so constructed as to afford accommodations for the 
congregation for religious purposes. The habitations of the set- 
tlers were of the simplest construction, little better, indeed, than 
those of their predecessors. A director-general had been sent to 
superintend the interests of the company in this country, in the 
person of Peter Minuit, who, in the year 1626, purchased Man- 
hattan Island from the Indian proprietors for the sum of sixty 
guilders, or twenty-four dollars, by which the title to the whole 
island, containing about twenty-two thousand acres, became 
vested in the West India Company. 

The success of the company proved itself, for a short period, 
by the rise in the value of its stock, which soon stood at a high 
premium in Holland. Various interests, however, were at work 
in the company to turn its advantages to individual account, and 
in 1628 an act was passed under the title of " Freedoms and Ex- 
emptions granted to all such as shall plant Colonies in New 
Netherlands." This edict gave, to such persons as should send 
over a colony of fifty souls above fifteen years old, the title of 
" patroons," and the privileges of selecting any land, except on the 
island of Manhattan, for a distance of eight miles on each side 
of any river, and so far inland as should be thought convenient; 
the company stipulating, however, that all the products of the 
plantations thus established should be first brought to the Man- 
hattans, before being sent elsewhere, for trade. They also re- 
served to themselves the sole trade with the Indians for peltries 
in all places where they had an agency established. 

With respect to such private persons as should emigrate at 


their own expense, they were allowed as much land as they could 
properly improve, upon satisfying the Indians therefor. 

These privileges gave an impetus to emigration, and assisted, 
in a great degree, in permanently establishing the settlement of 
the country. But from this era commenced the decay of the 
profits of the company, as with all its vigilance it could not 
restrain the inhabitants from surreptitiously engaging in the 
Indian trade, and drawing thence a profit which would other- 
wise have gone into the public treasury. 

e., vol. si.— 4. 


AJD. 1616 


Contemporary with Galileo, and ranking but little below him in influ- 
ence upon the modern world, was William Harvey. Harvey's discovery 
of the circulation of the blood, combined with the truly scientific methods 
by which he reached, and afterward proved, his great result, has placed 
his name high on the roll of science. Not only does his work stand at 
the foundation of modern anatomy and medicine, but it has given him 
place in the ranks of great philosophers as well. Huxley, himself so long 
and justly renowned in modern science, rises to enthusiasm in the follow- 
ing account of his mighty predecessor. 

Harvey was born at Folkestone, England, in 1578, and lived till 1657. 
He was educated as a physician, studying at Padua in Italy, and was 
early appointed a lecturer in the London College of Physicians. In his 
lectures, somewhere about the year 16 16 or a little later, he began to ex- 
plain his new doctrine to his students ; but it was not until the publication 
of his book Exercitatio Anatomica de Motu Cordis et Sanguinis, in 1628, 
that the theory spread beyond his immediate circle. 

Huxley's account will perhaps give a clearer idea of Harvey's re- 
lation to his predecessors and contemporaries, and of the value of his 
services to mankind, than would a far longer biography of the great phy- 
sician, physiologist, and anatomist. 

JVAANY opinions have been held respecting the exact nature 
and value of Harvey's contributions to the elucidation of the 
fundamental problem of the physiology of the higher animals; 
from those which deny him any merit at all — indeed, roundly 
charge him with the demerit of plagiarism — to those which en- 
throne him in a position of supreme honor among great dis- 
coverers in science. Nor has there been less controversy as to 
the method by which Harvey obtained the results which have 
made his name famous. I think it is desirable that no obscurity 
should hang around these questions; and I add my mite to the 
store of disquisitions on Harvey, in the hope that it may help to 


throw light upon several points about which darkness has ac- 
cumulated, partly by accident and partly by design. 

About the year B.C. 300 a great discovery, that of the valves 
of the heart, was made by Erasistratus. This anatomist found, 
around the opening by which the vena cava communicates with 
the right ventricle, three triangular membranous folds, disposed 
in such a manner as to allow any fluid contained in the vein to 
pass into the ventricle, but not back again. The opening of the 
vena arteriosa into the right ventricle is quite distinct from that of 
the vena cava; and Erasistratus observed that it is provided with 
three pouch-like, half- moon- shaped valves; the arrangement of 
which is such that a fluid can pass out of the ventricle into the 
vena arteriosa, but not back again. Three similar valves were 
found at the opening of the aorta into the left ventricle. The 
arteria venosa had a distinct opening into the same ventricle, and 
this was provided with triangular membranous valves, like those 
on the right side, but only two in number. Thus the ventricles 
had four openings, two for each; and there were altogether 
eleven valves, disposed in such a manner as to permit fluids to 
enter the ventricles from the vena cava and the arteria venosa 
respectively, and to pass out of the ventricles by the vena arte- 
riosa and the aorta respectively, but not to go the other way. 

It followed from this capital discovery that, if the contents of 
the heart are fluid, and if they move at all, they can only move in 
one way; namely, from the vena cava, through the ventricle, and 
toward the lungs, by the vena arteriosa, on the right side; and, 
from the lungs, by way of the arteria venosa, through the ven- 
tricle, and out by the aorta for distribution in the body, on the 
left side. 

Erasistratus thus, in a manner, laid the foundations of the 
theory of the motion of the blood. But it was not given to him 
to get any further. What the contents of the heart were, and 
whether they moved or not, was a point which could be deter- 
mined only by experiment. And, for want of sufficiently careful 
experimentation, Erasistratus strayed into a hopelessly mislead- 
ing path. Observing that the arteries are usually empty of blood 
after death, he adopted the unlucky hypothesis that this is their 
normal condition, and that during life they are filled with air. 
And it will be observed that it is not improbable that Erasistra- 


tils' discovery of the valves of the heart and of their mechanical 
action strengthened him in this view. For, as the arteria venosa 
branches out in the lungs, what more likely than that its ultimate 
ramifications absorb the air which is inspired ; and that this air, 
passing into the left ventricle, is then pumped all over the body 
through the aorta, in order to supply the vivifying principle which 
evidently resides in the air; or, it may be, of cooling the too great 
heat of the blood ? How easy to explain the elastic bounding feel 
of a pulsating artery by the hypothesis that it is full of air! Had 
Erasistratus only been acquainted with the structure of insects, 
the analogy of their tracheal system would have been a tower of 
strength to him. There was no prima- facie absurdity in his hy- 
pothesis — and experiment was the sole means of demonstrating 
its truth or falsity. 

More than four hundred years elapsed before the theory of 
the motion of the blood returned once more to the strait road 
which leads truthward ; and it was brought back by the only pos- 
sible method, that of experiment. A man of extraordinary gen- 
ius, Claudius Galenus, of Pergamus, was trained to anatomical 
and physiological investigation in the great schools of Alexan- 
dria, and spent a long life in incessant research, teaching, and 
medical practice. More than one hundred fifty treatises from 
his pen, on philosophical, literary, scientific, and practical top- 
ics, are extant; and there is reason to believe that they consti- 
tute not more than a third of his works. No former anatomist 
had reached his excellence, while he may be regarded as the 
founder of experimental physiology. And it is precisely because 
he was a master of the experimental method that he was able to 
learn more about the motions of the heart and of the blood than 
any of his predecessors, and to leave to posterity a legacy of 
knowledge which was not substantially increased for more than 
thirteen hundred years. 

The conceptions of the structures of the heart and vessels, of 
their actions, and of the motion of the blood in them, which Galen 
entertained, are not stated in a complete shape in any one of his 
numerous works. But a careful collation of the various pas- 
sages in which these conceptions are expressed leaves no doubt 
upon my mind that Galen's views respecting the structure of the 
organs concerned were, for the most part, as accurate as the means 


of anatomical analysis at his command permitted; and that he 
had exact and consistent, though by no means equally just, no- 
tions of the actions of these organs and of the movements of the 

Starting from the fundamental facts established by Erasis- 
tratus respecting the structure of the heart and the working of 
its valves, Galen's great service was the proof, by the only evi- 
dence which could possess demonstrative value ; namely, by that 
derived from experiments upon living animals, that the arteries 
are as much full of blood during life as the veins are, and that 
the left cavity of the heart, like the right, is also filled with 

Galen, moreover, correctly asserted — though the means of 
investigation at his disposition did not allow him to prove the fact 
— that the ramifications of the vena arteriosa in the substance of 
the lungs communicate with those of the arteria venosa, by direct, 
though invisible, passages, which he terms anastomoses; and 
that, by means of these communications, a certain portion of the 
blood of the right ventricle of the heart passes through the lungs 
into the left ventricle. In fact, Galen is quite clear as to the 
existence of a current of blood through the lungs, though not of 
such a current as we now know traverses them. For, while he 
believed that a part of the blood of the right ventricle passes 
through the lungs, and even, as I shall show, described at length 
the mechanical arrangements by which he supposes this passage 
to be effected, he considered that the greater part of the blood in 
the right ventricle passes directly, through certain pores in the 
septum, into the left ventricle. And this was where Galen got 
upon his wrong track, without which divergence a man of his 
scientific insight must infallibly have discovered the true char- 
acter of the pulmonary current, and not improbably have been 
led to anticipate Harvey. 

The best evidence of the state of knowledge respecting the 
motions of the heart and blood in Harvey's time is afforded by 
those works of his contemporaries which immediately preceded 
the publication of the Exercitatio Anatomica, in 1628. And none 
can be more fitly cited for this purpose than the de Humani 
Corporis Fabrica, Book X, of Adrian van den Spieghel, who, 
like Harvey, was a pupil of Fabricius of Aquapendente, and was 


of such distinguished ability and learning that he succeeded his 
master in the chair of anatomy of Padua. 

Van den Spieghel, or Spigelius, as he called himself in ac- 
cordance with the fashion of those days, died comparatively 
young, in 1625, and his work was edited by his friend Daniel 
Bucretius, whose preface is dated 1627. The accounts of the 
heart and vessels, and of the motion of the blood, which it con- 
tains, are full and clear; but, beyond matters of detail, they go 
beyond Galen in only two points; and with respect to one of 
these, Spigelius was in error. 

The first point is the " pulmonary circulation," which is taught 
as Realdus Columbus taught it nearly eighty years before. The 
second point is, so far as I know, peculiar to Spigelius himself. 
He thinks that the pulsation of the arteries has an effect in pro- 
moting the motion of the blood contained in the veins which 
accompany them. Of the true course of the blood as a whole, 
Spigelius has no more suspicion than had any other physiologist 
of that age, except William Harvey ; no rumor of whose lectures 
at the College of Physicians, commenced six years before Spie- 
ghel' s death, was likely in those days of slow communication 
and in the absence of periodical publications to have reached 

Now, let anyone familiar with the pages of Spigelius take 
up Harvey's treatise and mark the contrast. 

The main object of the Exercitatio is to put forth and demon- 
strate by direct experimental and other accessory evidence a 
proposition which is far from being hinted at either by Spigelius 
or by any of his contemporaries or predecessors, and which is in 
diametrical contradiction to the views respecting the course of 
the blood in the veins which are expounded in their works. 

From Galen to Spigelius, they one and all believed that the 
blood in the vena cava and its branches flows from the main 
trunk toward the smaller ramifications. There is a similar con- 
sensus in the doctrine that the greater part, if not the whole, of 
the blood thus distributed by the veins is derived from the liver; 
in which organ it is generated out of the materials brought from 
the alimentary canal by means of the vena portse. And all 
Harvey's predecessors further agree in the belief that only a small 
fraction of the total mass of the venous blood is conveyed by the 


vena arteriosa to the lungs and passes by the arteria venosa to 
the left ventricle, thence to be distributed over the body by the 
arteries. Whether some portion of the refined and " pneumatic " 
arterial blood traversed the anastomotic channels, the existence 
of which was assumed, and so reached the systemic veins, or 
whether, on the contrary, some portion of the venous blood made 
its entrance by the same passages into the arteries, depended 
upon circumstances. Sometimes the current might set one way, 
sometimes the other. 

In direct opposition to these universally received views Harvey 
asserts that the natural course of the blood in the veins is from 
the peripheral ramifications toward the main trunk; that the 
mass of the blood to be found in the veins at any moment was a 
short time before contained in the arteries, and has simply flowed 
out of the latter into the veins; and, finally, that the stream of 
blood which runs from the arteries into the veins is constant, con- 
tinuous, and rapid. 

According to the view of Harvey's predecessors, the veins may 
be compared to larger and smaller canals, fed by a spring which 
trickles into the chief canals, whence the water flows to the rest. 
The heart and lungs represent an engine set up in the principal 
canal to aerate some of the water and scatter it all over the gar- 
den. Whether any of this identical water came back to the en- 
gine or not would be a matter of chance, and it would certainly 
have no sensible effect on the motion of the water in the canals. 
In Harvey's conception of the matter, on the other hand, the gar- 
den is watered by channels so arranged as to form a circle, two 
points of which are occupied by propulsive engines. • The water 
is kept moving in a continual round within its channels, as much 
entering the engines on one side as leaves them on the other; 
and the motion of the water is entirely due to the engines. 

It is in conceiving the motion of the blood, as a whole, to be 
circular, and in ascribing that circular motion simply and solely 
to the contractions of the walls of the heart, that Harvey is so 
completely original. Before him, no one, that I can discover, 
had ever so much as dreamed that a given portion of blood, con- 
tained, for example, in the right ventricle of the heart,may, by 
the mere mechanical operation of the working of that organ, be 
made to return to the very place from which it started, after a 


long journey through the lungs and through the body generally. 
And it should be remembered that it is to this complete circuit 
of the blood alone that the term " circulation " can, in strictness, 
be applied. It is of the essence of a circular motion that that 
which moves returns to the place from whence it started. Hence 
the discovery of the course of the blood from the right ventricle, 
through the lungs, to the left ventricle was in no wise an anticipa- 
tion of the discovery of the circulation of the blood. For the 
blood which traverses this part of its course no more describes a 
circle than the dweller in a street who goes out of his own house 
and enters his next-door neighbor's does so. Although there 
may be nothing but a party wall between him and the room he 
has just left, it constitutes an efficient defense de circuler. Thus, 
whatever they may have known of the so-called pulmonary circu- 
lation, to say that Servetus or Columbus or Caesalpinus deserves 
any share of the credit which attaches to Harvey appears to me 
to be to mistake the question at issue. 

It must further be borne in mind that the determination of the 
true course taken by the whole mass of the blood is only the most 
conspicuous of the discoveries of Harvey; and that his analysis 
of the mechanism by which the circulation is brought about is 
far in advance of anything which had previously been published. 
For the first time it is shown that the walls of the heart are active 
only during its systole or contraction, and that the dilatation of 
the heart, in the diastole, is purely passive. Whence it follows 
that the impulse by which the blood is propelled is a vis a tergo, 
and that the blood is not drawn into the heart by any such in- 
halent or suctorial action as not only the predecessors, but many 
of the successors, of Harvey imagined it to possess. 

Harvey is no less original in his view of the cause of the arte- 
rial pulse. In contravention of Galen and of all other anatomists 
up to his own time, he affirms that the stretching of the arteries 
which gives rise to the pulse is not due to the active dilatation of 
their walls, but to their passive distention by the blood which is 
forced into them at each beat of the heart; reversing Galen's 
dictum, he says that they dilate as bags and not as bellows. This 
point of fundamental, practical as well as theoretical, importance 
is most admirably demonstrated, not only by experiment, but by 
pathological illustrations. 


One of the weightiest arguments in Harvey's demonstration of 
the circulation is based upon the comparison of the quantity of 
blood driven out of the heart, at each beat, with the total quantity 
of blood in the body. This, so far as I know, is the first time that 
quantitative considerations are taken into account in the discus- 
sion of a physiological problem. But one of the most striking 
differences between ancient and modern physiological science, 
and one of the chief reasons of the rapid progress of physiology 
in the last half-century, lies in the introduction of exact quantita- 
tive determinations into physiological experimentation and ob- 
servation. The moderns use means of accurate measurement 
which their forefathers neither possessed nor could conceive, in- 
asmuch as they are products of mechanical skill of the last 
hundred years, and of the advance of branches of science 
which hardly existed, even in germ, in the seventeenth cen- 

Having attained to a knowledge of the circulation of the blood, 
and of the conditions on which its motion depends, Harvey had 
a ready deductive solution for problems which had puzzled the 
older physiologists. Thus the true significance of the valves in 
the veins became at once apparent. Of no importance while the 
blood is flowing in its normal course toward the heart, they at 
once oppose any accidental reversal of its current which may 
arise from the pressure of adjacent muscles or the like. And in 
like manner the swelling of the veins on the farther side of the 
ligature, which so much troubled Caesalpinus, became at once 
intelligible as the natural result of the damming up of the return- 
ing current. 

In addition to the great positive results which are contained in 
the treatise which Harvey modestly calls an Exercise and which 
is, in truth, not so long as many a pamphlet about some wholly 
insignificant affair, its pages are characterized by such precision 
and simplicity of statement, such force of reasoning, and such a 
clear comprehension of the methods of inquiry and of the logic of 
physical science, that it holds a unique rank among physiological 
monographs. Under this aspect, I think I may fairly say that it 
has rarely been equalled and never surpassed. 

Such being the state of knowledge among his contemporaries, 
and such the immense progress effected by Harvey, it is not won- 


derful that the publication of the Exercitatio produced a profound 
sensation. And the best indirect evidence of the originality of 
its author, and of the revolutionary character of his views, is to 
be found in the multiplicity and the virulence of the attacks to 
which they were at once subjected. 

Riolan, of Paris, had the greatest reputation of any anatomist 
of those days, and he followed the course which is usually adopted 
by the men of temporary notoriety toward those of enduring 
fame. According to Riolan, Harvey's theory of the circulation 
was not true ; and besides that, it was not new ; and, furthermore, 
he invented a mongrel doctrine of his own, composed of the old 
views with as much of Harvey's as it was safe to borrow, and 
tried therewith to fish credit for himself out of the business. In 
fact, in wading through these forgotten controversies, I felt my- 
self quite at home. Substitute the name of Darwin for that of 
Harvey, and the truth that history repeats itself will come home 
to the dullest apprehension. It was said of the doctrine of the cir- 
culation of the blood that nobody over forty could be got to adopt 
it ; and I think I remember a passage in the Origin oj Species to 
the effect that its author expects to convert only young and flexi- 
ble minds. 

There is another curious point of resemblance in the fact that 
even those who gave Harvey their general approbation and sup- 
port sometimes failed to apprehend the value of some of those 
parts of his doctrine which are, indeed, merely auxiliary to the 
theory of the circulation, but are only a little less important than 
it. Harvey's great friend and champion, Sir George Ent, is in 
this case; and I am sorry to be obliged to admit that Descartes 
falls under the same reprehension. 

This great philosopher, mathematician, and physiologist, 
whose conception of the phenomena of life as the results of mech- 
anism is now playing as great a part in physiological science as 
Harvey's own discovery, never fails to speak with admiration, as 
Harvey gratefully acknowledges, of the new theory of the circu- 
lation. And it is astonishing — I had almost said humiliating — 
to find that even he is unable to grasp Harvey's profoundly true 
view of the nature of the systole and the diastole, or to see the 
force of the quantitative argument. He adduces experimental 
evidence against the former position, and is even further from 


the truth than Galen was, in his ideas of the physical cause of 
the circulation. 

Yet one more parallel with Darwin. In spite of all opposition, 
the doctrine of the circulation propounded by Harvey was, in its 
essential features, universally adopted within thirty years of the 
time of its publication. Harvey's friend, Thomas Hobbes, re- 
marked that he was the only man, in his experience, who had the 
good- fortune to live long enough to see a new doctrine accepted 
by the world at large. 

It is, I believe, a cherished belief of Englishmen that Francis 
Bacon, Viscount St. Albans and sometime lord chancellor of 
England, invented that " inductive philosophy" of which they 
speak with almost as much respect as they do of church and 
state ; and that, if it had not been for this " Baconian induction," 
science would never have extricated itself from the miserable con- 
dition in which it was left by a set of hair-splitting folk known as 
the ancient Greek philosophers. To be accused of departing 
from the canons of the Baconian philosophy is almost as bad as 
to be charged with forgetting your aspirates ; it is understood as 
a polite way of saying that you are an entirely absurd specula- 

Now the Novum Organonwas published in 1620, while Har- 
vey began to teach the doctrine of the circulation, in his public 
lectures, in 1619. Acquaintance with the Baconian induction, 
therefore, could not have had much to do with Harvey's investi- 
gations. The Exercitatio, however, was not published till 1628. 
Do we find in it any trace of the influence of the Novum Organon? 
Absolutely none. So far from indulging in the short-sighted and 
profoundly unscientific depreciation of the ancients in which 
Bacon indulges, Harvey invariably speaks of them with that re- 
spect which the faithful and intelligent study of the fragments 
of their labors that remain to us must inspire in everyone who 
is practically acquainted with the difficulties with which they 
had to contend, and which they so often mastered. And, as to 
method, Harvey's method is the method of Galen, the method of 
Realdus Columbus, the method of Galileo, the method of every 
genuine worker in science either in the past or the present. On 
the other hand, judged strictly by the standard of his own time, 
Bacon's ignorance of the progress which science had up to that time 


made is only to be equalled by his insolence toward men in com- 
parison with whom he was the merest sciolist. Even when he 
had some hearsay knowledge of what has been done, his want of 
acquaintance with the facts and his abnormal deficiency in what 
I may call the scientific sense, prevent him from divining its im- 
portance. Bacon could see nothing remarkable in the chief con- 
tributions to science of Copernicus or of Kepler or of Galileo; 
Gilbert, his fellow-countryman, is the subject of a sneer; while 
Galen is bespattered with a shower of impertinences, which reach 
their climax in the epithets " puppy" and " plague." 

I venture to think that if Francis Bacon, instead of spending 
his time in fabricating fine phrases about the advancement of 
learning, in order to play, with due pomp, the part which he 
assigned to himself of " trumpeter" of science, had put himself 
under Harvey's instructions, and had applied his quick wit to 
discover and methodize the logical process which underlaid the 
work of that consummate investigator, he would have employed 
his time to better purpose, and, at any rate, would not have 
deserved the just but sharp judgment which follows: "that his 
[Bacon's] method is impracticable cannot I think be denied, if we 
reflect, not only that it has never produced any result, but also 
that the process by which scientific truths have been established 
cannot be so presented as even to appear to be in accordance 
with it." I quote from one of Mr. Ellis' contributions to the 
great work of Bacon's most learned, competent, and impartial 
biographer, Mr. Spedding. 

Few of Harvey's sayings are recorded, but Aubrey tells us that 
someone having enlarged upon the merits of the Baconian phi- 
losophy in his presence, " Yes," said Harvey, "he writes philos- 
ophy like a chancellor." On which pithy reply diverse persons 
will put diverse interpretations. The illumination of experience 
may possibly tempt a modern follower of Harvey to expound the 
dark saying thus: "So this servile courtier, this intriguing poli- 
tician, this unscrupulous lawyer, this witty master of phrases 
proposes to teach me my business in the intervals of his. I have 
borne with Riolan ; let me also be patient with him. " At any rate, 
I have no better reading to offer. 

In the latter half of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seven- 
teenth centuries the future of physical science was safe enough 


in the hands of Gilbert, Galileo, Harvey, Descartes, and the noble 
army of investigators who flocked to their standard and followed 
up the advance of their leaders. I do not believe that their won- 
derfully rapid progress would have been one whit retarded if the 
Novum Organon had never seen the light; while, if Harvey's 
little Exercise had been lost, physiology would have stood still 
until another Harvey was born into the world. 



A.D. l6l8 


As the last great struggle between the contending sects of Europe for 
political as well as spiritual power the Thirty Years' War was one of the 
most important conflicts of the modern age. It was mainly carried on in 
the German states, but during its later stages all the great European 
powers were involved. The horrors of its battles and sieges have often 
been painted. 

Among the direct causes of the war — the great general cause being the 
standing antagonism between Catholics and Protestants — was a clause in 
the Peace of Augsburg (1555) which remained a source of friction. It 
provided that any ecclesiastical prince who became Protestant must sur- 
render the lands as well as the authority of his office. In many instances 
this clause was disregarded by the Protestants, who from the first felt it 
to be unjust. Until the accession of Rudolph II (1576) as Emperor of 
the Holy Roman Empire, there was no imperial intolerance, and Protes- 
tantism rapidly spread. But the harsh dealings of Rudolph with the 
Protestants provoked resentment. In 1607 Donauworth, a free Protes- 
tant city, was seized by the Catholic Duke of Bavaria. Next year the 
German Protestants formed the defensive Evangelical Union. Mean- 
while Rudolph's policy only reacted in favor of the Protestant nobles. 
In 16 1 1 his brother Matthias supplanted him as King of Bohemia, and in 
1612 Rudolph died and Matthias succeeded to the imperial throne. 

The outbreak of the Thirty Years' War followed upon a revolution in 
Bohemia, which was precipitated by Rudolph's attempt to evade the 
Royal Charter, extorted from him in 1609 by the estates. Its chief feat- 
ure was a guarantee of freedom of conscience to Bohemians so long as 
they adhered to certain recognized creeds ; but it also involved questions 
of authority over lands with respect to their use for religious purposes. 
The difficulties with the Royal Charter, which had led to Rudolph's down- 
fall in Bohemia, were left to confront Matthias. 


\A7 HETHER it would have been possible in those days for a 
Catholic king to have kept a Protestant nation in working 
order we cannot say. At all events Matthias did not give the ex- 
periment a fair trial. He did not, indeed, attack the Royal Charter 



directly on the lands of the aristocracy. But he did his best to 
undermine it on his own. The Protestants of Braunau, on the 
lands of the Abbot of Braunau, and the Protestants of Kloster- 
grab, on the lands of the Archbishop of Prague, built churches 
for themselves, the use of which was prohibited by the abbot and 
the archbishop. A dispute immediately arose as to the rights of 
ecclesiastical land-owners, and it was argued on the Protestant 
side that their lands were technically crown lands, and that they 
had therefore no right to close the churches. Matthias took the 
opposite view. 

On his own estates Matthias found means to evade the char- 
ter. He appointed Catholic priests to Protestant churches, and 
allowed measures to be taken to compel Protestants to attend the 
Catholic service. Yet for a long time the Protestant nobility 
kept quiet. Matthias was old and infirm, and when he died they 
would, as they supposed, have an opportunity of choosing their 
next king, and it was generally believed that the election would 
fall upon a Protestant. The only question was whether the Elec- 
tor Palatine or the Elector of Saxony would be chosen. 

Suddenly in 161 7 the Bohemian Diet was summoned. When 
the Estates of the kingdom met they were told that it was a 
mistake to suppose that the crown of Bohemia was elective. 
Evidence was produced that for some time before the election of 
Matthias the Estates had acknowledged the throne to be heredi- 
tary, and the precedent of Matthias was to be set aside as occurring 
in revolutionary times. Intimidation was used to assist the argu- 
ment, and men in the confidence of the court whispered in the 
ears of those who refused to be convinced that it was to be hoped 
that they had at least two heads on their shoulders. 

If ever there was a moment for resistance, if resistance was to 
be made at all, it was this. The arguments of the court were 
undoubtedly strong, but a skilful lawyer could easily have found 
technicalities on the other side, and the real evasion of the Royal 
Charter might have been urged as a reason why the court had no 
right to press technical arguments too closely. The danger was 
all the greater, as it was known that by the renunciation of 
all intermediate heirs the hereditary right fell upon Ferdinand 
of Styria, who had already stamped Protestantism out in his 
own dominions. Yet, in spite of this, the Diet did as it was bid- 


den, and renounced the right of election by acknowledging Fer- 
dinand as their hereditary king (1617). 

The new King was more of a devotee and less of a statesman 
than Maximilian of Bavaria, his cousin on his mother's side. 
But their judgments of events were formed on the same lines. 
Neither of them was a mere ordinary bigot, keeping no faith with 
heretics. But they were both likely to be guided in their inter- 
pretation of the law by that which they conceived to be profit- 
able to their church. Ferdinand was personally brave; but 
except when his course was very clear before him, he was apt to 
let difficulties settle themselves rather than come to a decision. 

He had at once to consider whether he would swear to the 
Royal Charter. He consulted the Jesuits, and was told that, 
though it had been a sin to grant it, it was no sin to accept it now 
that it was the law of the land. As he walked in state to his 
coronation he turned to a nobleman who was by his side. "I 
am glad," he said, "that I have attained the Bohemian crown 
without any pangs of conscience." He took the oath without 
further difficulty. 

The Bohemians were not long in feeling the effects of the 
change. Hitherto the hold of the house of Austria upon the 
country had been limited to the life of one old man. It had now, 
by the admission of the Diet itself, fixed itself forever upon Bo- 
hemia. The proceedings against the Protestants on the royal 
domains assumed a sharper character. The Braunau worship- 
pers were rigorously excluded from their church. The walls of 
the new church at Klostergrab were actually levelled with the 

The Bohemians had thus to resist in 16 18, under every dis- 
advantage, the attack which they had done nothing to meet in 
1 6 1 7 . Certain persons named ' 'defensors ' ' had, by law, the right 
of summoning an assembly of representatives of the Protestant 
Estates. Such an assembly met on March 5th, and, having pre- 
pared a petition to Matthias, who was absent from the kingdom, 
adjourned to May 21st. 

Long before the time of meeting came, an answer was sent 
from Matthias justifying all that had been done, and declaring 
the assembly illegal. It was believed at the time, though incor- 
rectly, that the answer was prepared by Slavata and Martinitz, 


two members of the regency who had been notorious for the 
vigor of their opposition to Protestantism. 

In the Protestant assembly there was a knot of men, headed 
by Count Henry of Thurn, which was bent on the dethronement 
of Ferdinand. They resolved to take advantage of the popular 
feeling to effect the murder of the two Regents, and so to place an 
impassable gulf between the nation and the King. 

Accordingly, on the morning of May 23d, the " beginning 
and cause," as a contemporary calls it, "of all the coming evil," 
the first day, though men as yet knew it not, of thirty years of 
war, Thurn sallied forth at the head of a band of noblemen and 
their followers, all of them with arms in their hands. Trooping 
into the room where the Regents were seated, they charged the 
obnoxious two with being the authors of the King's reply. After 
a bitter altercation both Martinitz and Slavata were dragged to 
a window which overlooked the fosse below from a dizzy height 
of some seventy feet. Martinitz, struggling against his enemies, 
pleaded hard for a confessor. "Commend thy soul to God," 
was the stern answer. "Shall we allow the Jesuit scoundrels to 
come here?" In an instant he was hurled out, crying, "Jesus, 
Mary!" "Let us see," said someone mockingly, "whether his 
Mary will help him." A moment later he added, "By God, his 
Mary has helped him." Slavata followed, and then the secre- 
tary Fabricius. By a wonderful preservation, in which pious 
Catholics discerned the protecting hand of God, all three crawled 
away from the spot without serious hurt. 

There are moments when the character of a nation or party 
stands revealed as by a lightning flash, and this was one of them. 
It is not in such a way as this that successful revolutions are 

The first steps to constitute a new government were easy. 
Thirty directors were appointed, and the Jesuits were expelled 
from Bohemia. The Diet met and ordered soldiers to be levied 
to form an army. But to support this army money would be 
needed, and the existing taxes were insufficient. A loan was 
accordingly thought of, and the nobles resolved to request the 
towns to make up the sum, they themselves contributing noth- 
ing. The project falling dead upon the resistance of the towns, 
new taxes were voted, but no steps were taken to collect 
e , vol. xi.— 5. 


them, and the army was left to depend in a great measure upon 

Would the princes of Germany come to the help of the direc- 
tors ? John George of Saxony told them that he deeply sym- 
pathized with them, but that rebellion was a serious matter. To 
one who asked him what he meant to do he replied, "Help to 
put out the fire." 

There was more help for them at Heidelberg than at Dresden. 
Frederick IV had died in 1610, and his son, the young Frederick 
V, looked up to Christian of Anhalt as the first statesman of his 
age. By his marriage with Elizabeth, the daughter of James I 
of England, he had contracted an alliance which gave him the 
appearance rather than the reality of strength. He offered every 
encouragement to the Bohemians, but for the time held back 
from giving them actual assistance. 


Ferdinand had crushed Protestantism in every estate he 
owned. In 161 5 he and Matthias began, or at least permitted, 
measures for its repression in Bohemia. There were tumults, 
uprisings, and on May 23, 1618, a party of angry citizens of 
Prague burst into the council hall, seized Slavata and Martinitz, 
the two most obnoxious of the Catholic leaders, and hurled them 
from the window. It was an ancient form of Bohemian pun- 
ishment, which had been used by Ziska and by others. The 
window this time was over eighty feet from the ground, yet the 
fall did not prove fatal. The men landed on a soft rubbish 
heap below, and one was unhurt ; the other, though much in- 
jured, survived. Their secretary was hurled after them, and is 
said to have apologized to his masters, e^ en as he landed, for his 
unavoidable discourtesy in alighting upon them. 

This semicomic tragedy opened the Thirty Years' War. At 
first the struggle was confined to Bohemia and Austria. The 
other states, secure in the fact that four-fifths of the populace of 
the empire was Protestant, looked on with seeming indifference. 
The Bohemians drove the scattered imperial troops from their 

1 From The Story of the Greatest Natio?is, by permission of F. R. 


Meanwhile Matthias died, and Ferdinand was elected to the 
imperial throne as Ferdinand II (1619-1637). The Bohemians 
besieged him in Vienna. The Protestant Austrian nobles turned 
against him, and a deputation forced its way into the presence of 
the helpless Emperor, and insisted on his signing for them a 
grant of political and religious liberty. Ferdinand resolutely 
refused; the deputation grew threatening. One fierce noble 
seized the Emperor roughly by the coat front, crying, with an 
offensive nickname for Ferdinand, "Sign it, Nandel!" A 
trumpet from the castle yard interrupted them. It signalled the 
arrival of a body of imperial troops, who had slipped through the 
lines of the besiegers, and come to the Emperor's rescue. 

The Austrian nobles withdrew. Spanish and Cossack troops 
were called by Ferdinand into the country to crush all opposi- 
tion. The Bohemians, wasted by famine and plague, retreated 
into their own land, and the war continued there. The peo- 
ple offered the Bohemian throne to Frederick, the elector of 
the Rhenish Palatinate, and a son-in-law of the English King, 
James I. 

Frederick accepted, went to Bohemia in state, and tried to 
draw the other Protestant princes to his help. But he was a 
Calvinist, so the Lutherans refused to join him. His new sub- 
jects were mainly Lutherans also, and his impolitic effort to en- 
force his religious views upon Prague soon roused the citizens 
to a state of revolt against him. 

The Catholic princes of the empire had long been united 
in a "League," with Bavaria at its head. Bavaria was, next to 
Austria, the most powerful state of the empire, and it had become 
the stronghold of the Roman faith in Germany. Now, the army 
of this League, under its chief, Maximilian of Bavaria, offered 
its services to the Emperor against the disunited and wavering 
Bohemians. A portion of the Bohemian army was defeated at 
the battle of White Mountain, just outside of Prague. Freder- 
ick, the newly elected Bohemian King, saw his troops come fleeing 
back to the town, and their panic seems to have seized him also. 
Abandoning the strong walled city, he swept such of his posses- 
sions together as he could and fled in haste from Bohemia. " The 
Winter King" his enemies called him in derision, because his 
kingship had lasted but one short winter. 


The citizens, disheartened by his flight, terrified by the over- 
whelming forces arrayed against them, surrendered to Ferdinand. 
Executions, proscriptions, banishments, followed without num- 
ber. Every person of the land was compelled to accept Ca- 
tholicism. Many burned their homes with their own hands, 
and fled to other countries. Seldom has liberty been so utterly 
trampled under foot ; seldom has a land been so completely sub- 
jugated. The Bohemians, who had been one of the most intel- 
lectual, energetic peoples of Europe, here practically disappear 
from history as a separate nation. 

We turn now to the second period of this deplorable war. 
Its scene shifts to the domain of the unhappy Frederick upon the 
Rhine. He himself fled to Holland, but his land was considered 
as forfeited, and was deliberately desolated by Spanish troops 
in the service of the Emperor. The Bohemians had employed 
a well-known leader of mercenary troops, Count Mansfeld. 
When their cause was lost, Mansfeld, with most of his army, 
amused the Catholic forces by negotiations, till he saw his oppor- 
tunity, when he slipped away from them, and led his army to the 
Rhine. There he continued the war in Frederick's name, though 
really for his own sake. His troops supported themselves by 
pillaging the country, and the wretched inhabitants of Fred- 
erick's Palatinate were treated almost as mercilessly by their pre- 
tended friends as by their open foes. 

The peasants of Upper Austria also rebelled against Fer- 
dinand's efforts to force his religion upon them. For a time it 
seemed they would be as successful as the Swiss mountaineers 
had been. Under a peasant named Fadinger they gained sev- 
eral impressive victories; but he v. as killed, and their cause 
collapsed into ruin. In its last stages their struggle was taken 
up by an unknown leader, who was called simply "the Student." 
But it was too late. Remarkable and romantic as was the 
Student's career, his exploits and victories could not save the 
cause, and he perished at the head of his followers. 

Meanwhile, the war along the Rhine assumed more and more 
the savage character that made it so destructive to the land. 
Mansfeld, driven from the Palatinate, supported his ferocious 
troops almost entirely by plundering. Tilly, the chief general of 
the Catholic League, followed similar tactics, and, wherever they 


passed, the land lay ruined behind them. Some of the lesser 
Protestant princes joined Mansfeld, but Tilly proved a great 
military leader, and his opponents were slowly crowded back 
into Northern Germany. The Emperor forced his religion upon 
the Rhine districts, as he had upon Bohemia and Austria. The 
Protestant world at last began to take alarm. Both England and 
Holland lent Mansfeld support. The King of Denmark, draw- 
ing as many of the Protestant German princes as possible to his 
side, joined vigorously in the contest. 

This Danish struggle may be considered the third period of 
the war. It lasted from about 1625 to 1629, and introduces one 
of the two most remarkable men of the period. 

Albert of Waldstein, or Wallenstein, as he is generally called, 
was a native of Bohemia, who joined the Catholics, and won 
military fame and experience fighting on the imperial side in the 
Bohemian war. He acquired vast wealth through marriage and 
the purchase of the confiscated Protestant estates. Proving a 
remarkably capable financial manager, he was soon the richest 
subject in the empire, and was created Duke of Friedland, a 
district of Bohemia. 

All of these successes were to Wallenstein mere preliminary 
steps to an even more boundless ambition. He studied the polit- 
ical outlook, and his keen eye saw the possibility of vastly ex- 
panding Mansfeld's barbaric system of supporting his soldiers 
by plunder. The Emperor Ferdinand had but few troops of his 
own, and they were needed for quelling rebellion within his per- 
sonal domains. For carrying on the war along the Rhine, he 
was entirely dependent upon the princes of the Catholic League 
and their army under Tilly. 

Wallenstein now came forward and offered to supply the 
Emperor with a powerful imperial army which should not cost 
him a penny. This offer, coming from a mere private gentle- 
man, sounded absurd; and for a time Wallenstein was put aside 
with contemptuous laughter. At last the Emperor told him, if 
he thought he could raise as many as ten thousand men, to go 
ahead. "If I have only ten thousand," said Wallenstein, "we 
must accept what people choose to give us. If I have thirty 
thousand, we can take what we like." 

The answer makes plain his whole system. His troops sup- 


ported and paid themselves at the expense of the neighborhood 
where they were quartered. If it was a district which upheld 
the Emperor they took "contributions to the necessity of the 
empire." If the land opposed him, no polite words were needed 
to justify its pillage. Within three months Wallenstein had 
nearly fifty thousand men under his standard, drawn to him by 
the tempting offers of plunder that his agents held out. If the 
war had been terrible before, imagine the awful phase it now 
assumed, and the blighting curse that fell upon unhappy Ger- 

Modern justice can find little to choose thereafter between 
the methods of the opposing armies. We speak, therefore, only 
of the martial genius which Wallenstein displayed. He com- 
pletely outmanoeuvred Mansfeld, defeated him, and drove him 
to flight and death. Then Wallenstein and Tilly proceeded to 
destroy the high military reputation of the Danish King. He was 
overcome in battle after battle, and his land so completely devas- 
tated that he prayed for peace on any terms. 

Peace seemed indeed at hand. The remaining Lutheran 
states of Saxony and Brandenburg, which had been neutral and 
were as yet almost unharmed, dared not interfere. The Em- 
peror Ferdinand might have arranged everything as he chose 
had he used his power with moderation. But his hopes had 
grown with his fortunes, and he seems to have planned the estab- 
lishment of such an absolute power over Germany as had been 
the aim of his ancestor, Charles V. Ferdinand passed laws and 
gave decrees, without any pretence of calling a council or seeking 
the approval of the princes. His general, Wallenstein, was given 
one of the conquered states as his dukedom; and Wallenstein 
declared openly that his master had no further need of councils; 
the time had come for Germany to be governed as were France 
and Spain. 

The Catholic princes, with Maximilian of Bavaria at their 
head, became frightened by the giant they themselves had cre- 
ated, and began to take measures for their own preservation. 
They demanded that Wallenstein be removed from his command. 
The Emperor, perhaps himself afraid of his too powerful gen- 
eral, finally consented. 

There still remained, however, the serious question whether 


Wallenstein would accept his dismissal. His huge and ever- 
growing army was absolutely under his control. His influence 
over the troops was extraordinary. A firm believer in astrology, 
he asserted that the stars promised him certain success, and his 
followers believed him. Tall and thin, dark and solemn, silent 
and grim, wearing a scarlet cloak and a long, blood-red feather 
in his hat, he was declared by popular superstition to be in 
league with the devil, invulnerable and unconquerable. No 
evil act of his soldiery did he ever rebuke. Only two things he 
demanded of them — absolute obedience and unshaken daring. 
The man who flinched or disobeyed was executed on the instant. 
Otherwise the marauders might desecrate God's earth with what- 
soever hideous crimes they would. His troops laughed at the 
idea of being Catholics or Protestants, Germans or Bohemians; 
they were " Wallensteiners " and nothing else. 

Even Ferdinand would scarcely have dared oppose his over- 
grown servant had not Wallenstein failed in an attempt to capt- 
ure Stralsund. This little Baltic seaport held out against the 
assaults of his entire army. Wallenstein vowed that he would 
capture it "though it were fastened by chains to heaven." But 
each mad attack of his wild troopers was beaten back from the 
walls by the desperate townsfolk; and at last, with twelve thou- 
sand of his men dead, he retreated from before the stubborn port. 
A superstitious load was lifted from the minds even of those who 
pretended to be his friends. Wallenstein was not unconquer- 

He accepted the Emperor's notice of removal with haughty 
disdain. He said he had already seen it in the stars that evil men 
had sowed dissension between him and his sovereign, but the 
end was not yet. He retired to his vast estates in Bohemia, and 
lived at Prague with a magnificence exceeding that of any court 
in Germany. His table was always set for a hundred guests. 
He had sixty pages of the noblest families to wait on him. For 
chamberlains and other household officials, he had men who 
came from similar places under the Emperor. 

Meanwhile a new defender had sprung up for exhausted 
Protestantism. Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, invaded 
Germany in 1630 and called on the Protestants to help him in 
the fight to save their faith. All Europe had grown afraid of the 


tremendous and increasing power of the Hapsburg Emperor. 
Not only was Protestant England in league with the Swedes, but 
Catholic France, under its shrewd minister, Richelieu, also upheld 
them. Still the burden of actual fighting fell upon Gustavus 
Adolphus, who proved himself the greatest military leader of the 
age, and, in the eyes of Protestant Europe, the noblest and sub- 
limest man since Luther. 

It is not our province to analyze the motives of the Swedish 
King, the "Lion of the North," as he is called. How much he 
was actuated by ambition, how much by religion, perhaps he 
himself might have found it hard to say. His coming marks 
the turning-point of the contest; his brilliant achievements con- 
stitute the fourth period of the war. 

Tilly opposed him with the army of the Catholic League — 
Tilly, the victor of thirty desperate battles. The Emperor and 
his court laughed, and, thinking of the Bohemian King and the 
Dane, said: "Another of these snow kings has come against us. 
He, too, will melt in our southern sun." 

The Protestant princes hesitated, fearing to join Gustavus; 
he was hampered on every side. Tilly in his very face stormed 
the great Protestant city of Magdeburg, and sacked it with such 
merciless brutalities as raised a cry of horrified disgust, even in 
that age of atrocities. "Never was such a victory," wrote Tilly 
to the Emperor, "since the storming of Troy or of Jerusalem. 
I am sorry you and the ladies of the court were not there to enjoy 
the spectacle." A heap of blackened ruins, hiding a few hun- 
dred famished and broken outcasts, was all that remained of a 
splendid and prosperous city of forty thousand souls. 

Tilly's object in this bloody deed seems to have been to terrify 
the rest of Protestant Germany into submission. If so, he failed 
of his purpose. Gustavus promptly abandoned gentle measures, 
and by a threat of force compelled the Saxon elector to join him. 
He then met Tilly in a fierce battle near Leipsic and utterly 
defeated him. Tilly fled, and his army was almost annihilated, 
the fugitives who escaped the Swedes falling victims to the ven- 
geance of the enraged Protestant peasantry. Few men who had 
taken part in the sack of Magdeburg lived long to boast of their 

Gustavus swept victoriously through all the Rhineland. One 


Catholic prince or bishop after another was defeated. The 
advance soon became little more than a triumphal procession, 
city after city opening its gates to welcome him. The Saxon 
army conquered Bohemia; Gustavus reached Bavaria. 

There on the southern bank of the River Lech the Bavarian 
army under Tilly and Prince Maximilian was drawn to oppose 
the passage of the Protestant troops. It seemed impossible to 
cross the broad and deep stream in the face of such a force and 
such a general. Gustavus kept up a tremendous cannonade for 
three days. He burned great fires along the shore, that the 
smoke might conceal his movements. Tilly was struck down 
by a cannon-ball, the whole Bavarian army fell into confusion, 
and the Swedes rushed across the river almost unopposed. 
Maximilian fled with his army; and Bavaria, which as yet had 
escaped the horrors of the war, was in its turn plundered by an 

The stars in their courses seemed indeed to fight for Wallen- 
stein. From the moment that he was deprived of his command, 
the triumphant cause of the Emperor had fallen, fallen until now 
it lay in utter ruin. The Saxons held Bohemia; all Western 
Germany was in Gustavus' hands; nothing interposed between 
the conquerors and defenceless Austria — nothing but Wallen- 

Messenger after messenger sped from the Emperor to his 
offended general, entreating him to reaccept his command. 
Wallenstein dallied, and postponed his consent, until he had 
wrung from his despairing sovereign such terms as never gen- 
eral secured before or since. Practically Wallenstein became 
as exalted in authority as the Emperor himself, and wholly inde- 
pendent of his former master. He was to carry on the war or to 
make peace entirely as he saw fit, without interference of any 
sort. Certain provinces of Austria were given him to hold as a 
guarantee of the Emperor's good faith. 

The mere raising of the great general's standard drew around 
him another army of "Wallensteiners," with whom he marched 
against Gustavus. Two of the ablest military leaders in history 
were thus pitted against each other. There were clever marches 
and countermarches, partial, indecisive attacks, and at last a great 
culminating battle at Luetzen, in Saxony, November 6, 1632. 


Gustavus won ; but he perished on the field. He was always 
exposing himself in battle, and at Lutzen he galloped across in 
front of his army from one wing to another. A shot struck him 
— a traitor shot, say some, from his own German allies. He fell 
from his horse, and a band of the opposing cavalry encircled and 
slew him, not knowing who he was. His Swedes, who adored 
him, pressed furiously forward to save or avenge their leader, 
The Wallensteiners, after a desperate struggle, broke and fled 
before the resistless attack. 

Wallenstein himself, his hat and cloak riddled with bullets, 
rushed in vain among his men, taunting them furiously with their 
cowardice. It was only the night and the death of Gustavus that 
prevented the Swedes from reaping the full fruits of their victory. 
The imperial troops retreated unpursued. Wallenstein held a 
savage court-martial, and executed all of his men whom he could 
prove had been among the first in flight. 

From this time the war enters on its fifth stage. Wallen- 
stein did little more fighting. He withdrew his troops into 
Bohemia, and it is hard to say what purposes simmered in his 
dark and inscrutable brain. He certainly was no longer loyal 
to the Emperor; probably the Emperor plotted against him. 
Wallenstein seems to have contemplated making himself king of 
an independent Bohemian kingdom. At any rate, he broke 
openly with his sovereign, and at a great banquet persuaded his 
leading officers to sign an oath that they would stand by him in 
whatever he did. Some of the more timid among them warned 
the Emperor, and with his approval formed a trap for Wallen- 
stein. The general's chief lieutenants were suddenly set upon 
and slain; then the murderers rushed to Wallenstein's own apart- 
ments. Hearing them coming, he stood up dauntlessly, threw 
wide his arms to their blows, and died as silent and mysterious 
as he had lived. His slayers were richly rewarded by Ferdi- 

All Germany was weary of the war. The contending parties 
had fought each other to a standstill; and, had Germany alone 
been concerned, peace would certainly have followed. But the 
Swedes, abandoning Gustavus' higher policy, continued the war 
for what increase of territory they could get ; and France helped 
herself to what German cities she could in Alsace and Lorraine. 


So the war went on, the German princes taking sides now with 
this one, now the other, and nobody apparently ever thinking of 
the poor peasantry. 

The spirit of the brutal soldiery grew ever more atrocious. 
Their captives were tortured to death for punishment or for 
ransom, or, it is to be feared, for the mere amusement of the 
bestial captors. The open country became everywhere a wilder- 
ness. The soldiers themselves began starving in the dismal 

The Emperor, Ferdinand II, the cause of all this destruction, 
died in 1637, and was succeeded by his son, Ferdinand III 
(1637-165 7). The war still continued, though in a feeble, list- 
less way, with no decisive victories on either side, until the peace 
of Westphalia, in 1648. This peace placed Protestants and 
Catholics on an equal footing of toleration throughout the em- 
pire. It gave Sweden what territory she wanted in the north, 
and France what she asked toward the Rhine. Switzerland and 
Holland were acknowledged as independent lands. The im- 
portance of the smaller princes was increased, they, too, becom- 
ing practically independent, and the power of the emperors was 
all but destroyed. From this time the importance of the Haps- 
burgs rested solely on their personal possessions in Austria, 
Hungary, and Bohemia. The title of emperor remained little 
better than a name. 

Indeed, Germany itself had become scarcely more than a 
name. During those terrible thirty years the population of the 
land is said to have dwindled from fifteen millions to less than 
five millions. In the Palatinate less than fifty thousand people 
remained, where there had been five hundred thousand. Whole 
districts everywhere lay utterly waste, wild, and uninhabited. 
Men killed themselves to escape starvation, or slew their brothers 
for a fragment of bread. A full description of the horrors of that 
awful time will never be written; much has been mercifully 
obliterated. The material progress of Germany, its students 
say, was retarded by two centuries' growth. To this day the 
land has not fully recovered from the exhaustion of that awful 


A.D. 1619 


As a distinctly American event the beginning of formal legislation in 
this country has special interest, no less for the general reader than for 
students of legal history. None of the early institutions of the fathers is 
more important than that which developed into the State legislature. 

At the opening of 1609 the Virginia colony, which was not then in a 
flourishing condition, asked and obtained from King James I a new char- 
ter. The territory was now greatly enlarged, the powers of local govern- 
ment increased, and Virginia soon entered upon its permanent career. 

In 1617 " a party of greedy and unprincipled adventurers " in England 
succeeded in having an agent of their own appointed deputy governor. 
This was Samuel Argall. Lord Delaware, the Governor, dying in 1618, 
Argall became virtual dictator, and under his arbitrary and self-seeking 
rule the people suffered. Meanwhile others, in England, were at work 
in the interest of the Virginia Company, under whose auspices, from the 
granting of the new charter, the colony had existed. Sir Edwin Sandys, 
in 1618, was made treasurer and actual governor of the Virginia Com- 
pany. Through the efforts of Sandys and others in England, Sir George 
Yeardley, who had governed Virginia in 16 16, was sent in 16 19 to super- 
sede Argall. 

This year " was remarkable in the annals of the colony. It is hardly 
an exaggeration to say that it witnessed the creation of Virginia as an 
independent community." From that year Sandys and his followers 
maintained their ascendency, and a high degree of energy and statesman- 
like wisdom marked the administration of the colonial government. The 
calling of the first assembly was one of the principal acts of Yeardley 's 

CIR THOMAS SMITH, treasurer or governor of the Vir- 
ginia Company, was displaced in 16 18, and succeeded by 
Sir Edwin Sandys. This enlightened statesman and exemplary 
man was born in Worcestershire in 1561, being the second son 
of the Archbishop of York. Educated at Oxford under the care 
of "the judicious Hooker," he obtained a prebend in the church 
of York. He afterward travelled in foreign countries, and pub- 
lished his observations in a work entitled Europa Speculum; or, 



A View oj the State oj Religion in the Western World. He re- 
signed his prebend in 1602, was subsequently knighted by James, 
in 1603, and employed in diplomatic trusts. His appointment 
as treasurer gave great satisfaction to the colony ; for free prin- 
ciples were now, under his auspices, in the ascendent. His name 
is spelled sometimes "Sandis," sometimes " Sands." 

When Argall, in April, 16 19, stole away from Virginia, he 
left for his deputy Captain Nathaniel Powell, who had come 
over with Captain Smith in 1607, and had evinced courage and 
discretion. He was one of the writers from whose narratives 
Smith compiled his General History. Powell held this office only 
about ten days, when Sir George Yeardley, recently knighted, 
arrived as Governor- General, bringing with him new charters 
for the colony. John Rolfe, who had been secretary, now lost 
his place, probably owing to his connivance at Argall's malprac- 
tices, and was succeeded by John Pory. He was educated at 
Cambridge, where he took the degree of master of arts in April, 
i6io. It is supposed that he was a member of the House of 
Commons. He was much of a traveller, and was at Venice in 
1613, at Amsterdam in 161 7, and shortly after at Paris. By the 
Earl of Warwick's influence he now procured the place of sec- 
retary of the colony of Virginia, having come over in April, 16 19, 
with Sir George Yeardley, who appointed him one of his coun- 

In June Governor Yeardley summoned the first legislature 
that ever met in America. It assembled at James City or James- 
town on Friday, July 30, 16 19, upward of a year before the May- 
flower left England with the Pilgrims. A record of the pro- 
ceedings is preserved in the London State Paper Office, in the 
form of a report from the speaker, John Pory. 

John Pory, secretary of the colony, was chosen speaker, and 
John Twine, clerk. The Assembly sat in the choir of the church, 
the members of the council sitting on either side of the Governor, 
and the speaker right before him, the clerk next the speaker, 
and Thomas Pierse, the sergeant, standing at the bar. Before 
commencing business, prayer was said by Mr. Bucke, the min- 

Each burgess then, as called on, took the oath of supremacy. 
When the name of Captain Ward was called, the speaker ob- 


jected to him as having seated himself on land without authority. 
Objections were also made to the burgesses appearing to repre- 
sent Captain Martin's patent, because they were, by its terms, 
exempted from any obligation to obey the laws of the colony. 
Complaint was made by Opochancano that corn had been forci- 
bly taken from some of his people in the Chesapeake by Ensign 
Harrison, commanding a shallop belonging to this Captain John 
Martin, "master of the Ordinance." 

The speaker read the commission for establishing the coun- 
cil of state and the General Assembly, and also the charter 
brought out by Sir Thomas Yeardley. This last was referred to 
several committees for examination, so that if they should find 
anything "not perfectly squaring with the state of the colony, or 
any law pressing or binding too hard," they might by petition 
seek to have it redressed, "especially because this great charter 
is to bind us and our heirs forever." Mr. Abraham Persey was 
the Cape merchant. The price at which he was to receive to- 
bacco, " either for commodities or upon bills," was fixed at three 
shillings for the best and eighteen pence for the second-rate. 

After inquiry the burgesses from Martin's patent were ex- 
cluded, and the Assembly "humbly demanded" of the Virginia 
Company an explanation of that clause in his patent entitling 
him to enjoy his lands as amply as any lord of a manor in Eng- 
land, adding, "the least the Assembly can allege against this 
clause is that it is obscure and that it is a thing impossible for 
us here to know the prerogatives of all the manors in England." 
And they prayed that the clause in the charter guaranteeing 
equal liberties and immunities to grantees, might not be violated, 
so as to " divert out of the true course the free and public current 
of justice." Thus did the first Assembly of Virginia insist upon 
the principle of the Declaration of Rights of 1776, that "no man 
or set of men are entitled to exclusive or separate emoluments or 
privileges from the community, but in consideration of public 

Certain instructions sent out from England were "drawn 
into laws" for protection of the Indians from injury, and regu- 
lating intercourse with them, and educating their children, and 
preparing some of the most promising boys " for the college in- 
tended for them; that from thence they may be sent to that work 


of conversion"; for regulating agriculture, tobacco, and sassa- 
fras, then the chief merchantable commodities raised. Upon 
Captain Powell's petition, "a lewd and treacherous servant of 
his " was sentenced to stand for four days with his ears nailed to 
the pillory, and be whipped each day. John Rolfe complained 
that Captain Martin had made unjust charges against him, and 
cast "some aspersion upon the present government, which is the 
most temperate and just that ever was in this country — too mild, 
indeed, for many of this colony, whom unwonted liberty hath 
made insolent, and not to know themselves." 

On the last day of the session were enacted such laws as is- 
sued " out of every man's private conceit." " It shall be free for 
every man to trade with the Indians, servants only excepted 
upon pain of whipping, unless the master will redeem it off with 
the payment of an angel." "No man to sell or give any of the 
greater hoes to the Indians, or any English dog of quality, as a 
mastiff, greyhound, bloodhound, land or water spaniel." "Any 
man selling arms or ammunition to the Indians, to be hanged 
so soon as the fact is proved." All ministers shall duly "read 
divine service, and exercise their ministerial function according 
to the ecclesiastical laws and orders of the Church of England, 
and every Sunday, in the afternoon, shall catechize such as are 
not ripe to come to the communion." All persons going up or 
down the James River were to touch at James City, " to know 
whether the Governor will command them any service." "All 
persons whatsoever, upon the Sabbath days, shall frequent di- 
vine service and sermons, both forenoon and afternoon; and all 
such as bear arms shall bring their pieces, swords, powder, and 

Captain Henry Spellman, charged by Robert Poole, inter- 
preter, with speaking ill of the Governor "at Opochancano's 
court," was degraded from his rank of captain, and condemned 
to serve the colony for seven years as interpreter to the Governor. 
Paspaheigh, embracing three hundred acres of land, was also 
called Argallstown, and was part of the tract appropriated to the 
Governor. To compensate the speaker, clerk, sergeant, and pro- 
vost-marshal, a pound of the best tobacco was levied from every 
male above sixteen years of age. 

The Assembly prayed that the treasurer, council, and com- 


pany would not " take it in ill part if these laws, which we have 
now brought to light, do pass current, and be of force till such 
time as we may know their further pleasure out of England ; for 
otherwise this people (who now at length have got their reins of 
former servitude into their own swindge) would, in short time, 
grow so insolent as they would shake off all government, and 
there would be no living among them." They also prayed the 
company to "give us power to allow or disallow of their orders 
of court, as his majesty hath given them power to allow or reject 
our laws." So early did it appear that, from the necessity of the 
case, the colony must in large part legislate for itself, and so early 
did a spirit of independence manifest itself. 

Owing to the heat of the weather several of the burgesses fell 
sick and one died, and thus the Governor was obliged abruptly, 
on August 4th, to prorogue the Assembly till March ist. There 
being as yet no counties laid off, the representatives were elected 
from the several towns, plantations, and hundreds, styled bor- 
oughs, and hence they were called burgesses. 





A.D. 1619 , 


It was not till one hundred twenty years after the beginning of 
negro slavery in Spanish America that it was introduced in any part of 
the present United States. From its first introduction in Virginia (1619) 
the system grew and spread until it became one of the most prominent 
features of American society. The comprehensive view of its growth 
and decline presented by Mr. Ludlow, a well-known English wrfTeY, has 
therefore a special value here. From him and from the Virginia his- 
torian Mr. Campbell we get two widely diverging views upon the sub- 

Along with the adoption and increase of slavery in Virginia went 
rapid progress in the cultivation there of tobacco, which had begun in 
1612. Tobacco proved to be a staple of the first importance. It was 
destined to exert a controlling influence on the growth and prosperity of 
the colony. It was not long before this industry, by reason of the great 
profits which it returned, overshadowed every other. 


TN the month of August, 1619, a Dutch man-of-war visited 
Jamestown and sold the settlers twenty negroes, the first in- 
troduced into Virginia. Some time before this, Captain Argall, 
the deputy governor of Virginia, sent out on a " filibustering" 
cruise to the West Indies a ship called the Treasurer, manned 
"with the ablest men in the colony." She returned to Virginia, 
after some ten months, with her booty, which consisted of capt- 
ured negroes, who were not left in Virginia, because Captain 
Argall had gone back to England, but were put on the Earl of 
Warwick's plantation in the Somer Islands. 

It is probable that the planters who first purchased negroes 
E., vol. xi.— 6. 81 


reasoned but little on the morality of the act, or, if any scruples 
of conscience presented themselves, they could be readily si- 
lenced by reflecting that the negroes were heathens, descendants 
of Ham, and consigned by divine appointment to perpetual 
bondage. The planters may, if they reasoned at all on the sub- 
ject, have supposed that they were even performing a humane 
act in releasing these Africans from the noisome hold of the ship. 
They might well believe that the condition of the negro slave 
would be less degraded and wretched in Virginia than it had 
been in his native country. This first purchase was not prob- 
ably looked upon as a matter of much consequence, and for sev- 
eral years the increase of the blacks in Virginia was so inconsid- 
erable as not to attract any special attention. The condition of 
the white servants of the colony, many of them convicts, was so 
abject that men accustomed to see their own race in bondage 
could look with more indifference at the worse condition of the 

The negroes purchased by the slavers on the coast of Africa 
were brought from the interior, convicts sold into slavery, chil- 
dren sold by heathen parents destitute of natural affection, kid- 
napped villagers, and captives taken in war, the greater part of 
them born in hereditary bondage. The circumstances under 
which they were consigned to the slave-ship evince the wretched- 
ness of their condition in their native country, where they were 
the victims of idolatry, barbarism, and war. The negroes im- 
ported were usually between the ages of fourteen and thirty, two- 
thirds of them being males. The new negro, just transferred 
from the wilds of a distant continent, was indolent, ignorant of 
the modes and implements of labor, and of the language of his 
master and, perhaps, of his fellow-laborers. To tame and do- 
mesticate, to instruct in the modes of industry, and to reduce to 
subordination and usefulness a barbarian, gross, obtuse, per- 
verse, must have demanded persevering efforts and severe dis- 

While the cruel slave trade was prompted by a remorseless 
cupidity, an inscrutable Providence turned the wickedness of 
men into the means of bringing about beneficent results. The 
system of slavery doubtless entailed many evils on slave and 
slaveholder, and, perhaps, the greater on the latter. These 


evils are the tax paid for the elevation of the negro from his abo- 
riginal condition. 

Among the vessels that came over to Virginia from England 
about this time is mentioned a bark of five tons. A fleet sent out 
by the Virginia Company brought over, in 16 19, more than 
twelve hundred settlers. The planters at length enjoyed the 
blessings of property in the soil and the society of women. The 
wives were sold to the colonists for one hundred twenty pounds 
of tobacco, and it was ordered that this debt should have pre- 
cedence of all others. The price of a wife afterward became 
higher. The bishops in England, by the King's orders, collected 
nearly fifteen hundred pounds to build a college or university 
at Henrico, intended in part for the education of Indian chil- 

In July, 1620, the population of the colony was estimated at 
four thousand. One hundred " disorderly persons" or convicts 
sent over during the previous year by the King's order were em- 
ployed as servants. For a brief interval the Virginia Company 
had enjoyed freedom of trade with the Low Countries, where 
they sold their tobacco; but in October, 1621, this was prohib- 
ited by an order in council; and from this time England claimed 
a monopoly of the trade of her plantations, and this principle 
was gradually adopted by all the European powers as they ac- 
quired transatlantic settlements. 

Many new settlements were now made on the James and 
York rivers; and the planters, being supplied with wives and 
servants, began to be more content, and to take more pleasure 
in cultivating their lands. The brief interval of free trade with 
Holland had enlarged the demand for tobacco, and it was culti- 
vated more extensively. 

Sir George Yeardley's term of office having expired, the 
Company's council, upon the recommendation of the Earl of 
Southampton, appointed Sir Francis Wyat governor, a young 
gentleman of Ireland, whose education, family, fortune, and in- 
tegrity well qualified him for the place. He arrived in October, 
162 1, with a fleet of nine sail, and brought over a new frame of 
government constituted by the company, and dated July 24, 
162 1, establishing a council of state and a general assembly. 

Wyat brought with him also a body of instructions intended 


for the permanent guidance of the governor and council. Among 
other things he was to cultivate corn, wine, and silk; to search 
for minerals, dyes, gums, and medical drugs, and to draw off the 
people from the excessive planting of tobacco; to take a census 
of the colony; to put apprentices to trades and not let them for- 
sake them for planting tobacco or any such useless commodity; 
to build water-mills, to make salt, pitch, tar, soap and ashes; 
to make oil of walnuts, and employ apothecaries in distilling 
lees of beer; to make small quantity of tobacco, and that very 

In 1615 twelve different commodities had been shipped 
from Virginia; sassafras and tobacco were now the only exports. 
During the year 16 19 the company in England imported twenty 
thousand pounds of tobacco, the entire crop of the preceding year. 
James I endeavored to draw a " prerogative " revenue from 
what he termed a pernicious weed, and against which he had 
published his Counterblast; but he was restrained from this ille- 
gal measure by a resolution of the House of Commons. In 1607 
he sent a letter forbidding the use of tobacco at St. Mary's Col- 
lege, Cambridge. 

Smoking was the first mode of using tobacco in England, and 
when Sir Walter Raleigh first introduced the custom among peo- 
ple of fashion, in order to escape observation he smoked pri- 
vately in his house (at Islington), the remains of which were till 
of late years to be seen, as an inn, long known as the Pied Bull. 
This was the first house in England in which tobacco was smoked, 
and Raleigh had his arms emblazoned there, with a tobacco- 
plant on the top. There existed also another tradition in the 
parish of St. Matthew, Friday Street, London, that Raleigh was 
accustomed to sit smoking at his door in company with Sir Hugh 
Middleton. Sir Walter's guests were entertained with pipes, a 
mug of ale, and a nutmeg, and on these occasions he made use 
of his tobacco-box, which was of cylindrical form, seven inches 
in diameter and thirteen inches long ; the outside of gilt leather, 
and within a receiver of glass or metal, which held about a 
pound of tobacco. A kind of collar connected the receiver with 
the case, and on every side the box was pierced with holes for 
the pipes. This relic was preserved in the museum of Ralph 
Thoresby, of Leeds, in 1719, and about 1843 was added, by the 


late Duke of Sussex, to his collection of the smoking-utensils of 
all nations. 

Although Raleigh first introduced the custom of smoking to- 
bacco in England, yet its use appears to have been not entirely 
unknown before, for one Kemble, condemned for heresy in the 
time of Queen Mary the Bloody, while walking to the stake 
smoked a pipe of tobacco. Hence the last pipe that one smoked 
was called the Kemble pipe. 

The writer of a pamphlet, supposed to have been Milton's 
father, describes many of the playbooks and pamphlets of that 
day, 1609, as "conceived over night by idle brains, impregnated 
with tobacco smoke and mulled sack, and brought forth by the 
help of midwifery of a candle next morning." At the theatres 
in Shakespeare's time the spectators were allowed to sit on the 
stage, and to be attended by pages, who furnished them with 
pipes and tobacco. 

About the time of the settlement of Jamestown, in 1607, the 
characteristics of a man of fashion were, to wear velvet breeches, 
with panes or slashes of silk, an enormous starched ruff, a gilt- 
handled sword, and a Spanish dagger: to play at cards or dice 
in the room of the groom-porter, and to smoke tobacco in the 
tilt-yard, or at the playhouse. 

The peers engaged in the trial of the Earls of Essex and 
Southampton smoked much while they deliberated on their ver- 
dict. It was alleged against Raleigh that he smoked tobacco on 
the occasion of the execution of the Earl of Essex, in contempt 
of him ; and it was perhaps in allusion to this circumstance that 
when Raleigh was passing through London to Winchester, to 
stand his trial, he was followed by the execrations of the popu- 
lace, and pelted with tobacco-pipes, stones, and mud. On the 
scaffold, however, he protested that during the execution of Es- 
sex he had retired far off into the armory, where Essex could not 
see him, although he saw Essex, and shed tears for him. Ra- 
leigh used tobacco on the moaning of his own execution. 

As early as the year 16 10 tobacco was in general use in Eng- 
land. The manner of using it was partly to inhale the smoke 
and blow it out through the nostrils, and this was called "drink- 
ing tobacco," and this practice continued until the latter part of 
the reign of James I. In 1614 the number of tobacco-houses in 


or near London was estimated at seven thousand. In 1620 was 
chartered the Society of Tobacco-pipe Makers of London; they 
bore on their shield a tobacco-plant in full blossom. 

The Counterblast to Tobacco, by King James I, if in some 
parts absurd and puerile, yet is not without a good deal of just 
reasoning and good sense; some fair hits are made in it, and 
those who have ridiculed that production might find it not easy 
to controvert some of its views. King James, in his Counter- 
blast, does not omit the opportunity of expressing his hatred 
toward Sir Walter Raleigh. He continued his opposition to to- 
bacco as long as he lived, and in his ordinary conversation often- 
times argued and inveighed against it. 

The Virginia tobacco in early times was imported into Eng- 
land in the leaf, in bundles; the Spanish or West Indian tobacco 
in balls. Molasses or other liquid preparation was used in pre- 
paring those balls. Tobacco was then, as now, adulterated in 
various ways. The nice retailer kept it in what were called lily- 
pots; that is, white jars. It was cut on a maple block; juniper- 
wood, which retains fire well, was used for lighting pipes, and 
among the rich, silver tongs were employed for taking up a coal 
of it. Tobacco was sometimes called "the American Silver- 

The Turkish vizier thrust pipes through the noses of smok- 
ers ; and the Shah of Persia cropped the ears and slit the noses of 
those who made use of the fascinating leaf. The Counterblast 
says of it: "And for the vanity committed in this filthy custom, is 
it not both great vanity and uncleanness, that at the table — a 
place of respect of cleanliness, of modesty — men should not be 
ashamed to sit tossing of tobacco-pipes and puffing of smoke, 
one at another, making the filthy smoke and stink thereof to ex- 
hale athwart the dishes, and infect the air, when very often men 
who abhor it are at their repast? Surely smoke becomes a 
kitchen far better than a dining-chamber; and yet it makes the 
kitchen oftentimes in the inward parts of man, soiling and in- 
fecting them with an unctuous and oily kind of soot, as hath 
been found in some great tobacco-takers that after their deaths 
were opened." 

The Counterblast to Tobacco was first printed in quarto, with- 
out name or date, at London, 16 16. In the frontpiece were en- 


graved the tobacco-pipes, cross-bones, death's-head, etc. It is 
not improbable that it was directly intended to foment the pop- 
ular prejudice against Sir Walter Raleigh, who was put to death 
in the same year (16 16). James alludes to the introduction of 
the use of tobacco and to Raleigh as follows: " It is not so long 
since the first entry of this abuse among us here, as that this pres- 
ent age cannot very well remember both the first author and the 
form of the first introduction of it among us. It was neither 
brought in by king, great conqueror, nor learned doctor of 
physic. With the report of a great discovery for a conquest, 
some two or three savage men were brought in together with this 
savage custom; but the pity is, the poor wild barbarous men 
died, but that vile barbarous custom is still alive, yea, in fresh 
vigor, so as it seems a miracle to me how a custom springing 
from so vile a ground, and brought in by a father so generally 
hated, should be welcomed upon so slender a warrant." 

The King thus reasons against the Virginia staple: "Sec- 
ondly, it is, as you use or rather abuse it, a branch of the sin of 
drunkenness, which is the root of all sins, for as the only delight 
that drunkards love any weak or sweet drink, so are not those (I 
mean the strong heat and fume) the only qualities that make 
tobacco so delectable to all the lovers of it ? And as no man loves 
strong heavy drinks the first day (because nemo repente juit tur- 
pissimus), but by custom is piece and piece allured, while in the 
end a drunkard will have as great a thirst to be drunk as a sober 
man to quench his thirst with a draught when he hath need of it; 
so is not this the true case of all the great takers of tobacco, which 
therefore they themselves do attribute to a bewitching quality in 
it ? Thirdly, is it not the greatest sin that all of you, the people 
of all sorts of this kingdom, who are created and ordained by 
God to bestow both your persons and goods for the maintenance 
both of the honor and safety of your King and commonwealth, 
should disable yourself to this shameful imbecility, that you are 
not able to ride or walk the journey of a Jew's Sabbath, but you 
must have a reeky coal brought you from the next poorhouse to 
kindle your tobacco with? whereas he cannot be thought able 
for any service in the wars that cannot endure ofttimes the want 
of meat, drink, and sleep; much more then must he endure the 
want of tobacco." 


A curious tractate on tobacco, by Dr. Tobias Venner, was 
published at London in 162 1. The author was a graduate of 
Oxford, and a physician at Bath, and is mentioned in the Oxon- 
ice Athenienses. 

The amount of tobacco imported in 16 19 into England from 
Virginia, being the entire crop of the preceding year, was, as be- 
fore said, twenty thousand pounds. At the end of seventy years 
there were annually imported into England more than fifteen 
million of pounds of it, from which a revenue of upward of one 
hundred thousand pounds was derived. 

In April, 1 62 1, the House of Commons debated whether it 
was expedient to prohibit the importation of tobacco entirely; 
and they determined to exclude all save from Virginia and the 
Somer Isles. It was estimated that the consumption of England 
amounted to one thousand pounds per diem. This seductive 
narcotic leaf, which soothes the mind and quiets its perturba- 
tions, has found its way into all parts of the habitable globe, 
from the sunny tropics to the snowy regions of the frozen pole. 
Its fragrant smoke ascends alike to the blackened rafters of the 
lowly hut and the gilded ceilings of luxurious wealth. 


The first negro slaves were brought by Dutchmen for sale 
into Virginia in 1619. The New England public was at first op- 
posed to the practice of negro slavery, and there is even a record 
of a slave, who had been sold by a member of the Boston Church, 
being ordered to be sent back to Africa (1645). Yet negro slaves 
were to be found in New England as early as 1638. Massa- 
chusetts and Connecticut recognized the lawfulness of slavery; 
Massachusetts, however, only when voluntary or in the case of 
captives taken in war. Rhode Island, more generous, made il- 
legal the perpetual service of " black mankind," requiring them 
to be set free after two years, the period of white men's indent- 
ures — a condition which, however, would only tend to the work- 
ing slaves to death in the allotted time. But although there was 
no importation of negroes on any considerable scale into New 
England, the ships by which the slave trade was mainly carried 
on were those from Massachusetts and Rhode Island, which car- 
ried rum to Africa, and brought back slaves to the West Indies 


and the southern colonies. In Maryland slavery had been es- 
tablished at once; in South Carolina it came into birth with the 
colony itself. The attempt to exclude it from Georgia failed. 

The guilt of the institution cannot, however, be fairly charged 
on the colonists. Queen Elizabeth had been a partner in the 
second voyage of Sir John Hawkins, the first English slave- 
captain. James I chartered a slave-trading company (16 18); 
Charles I a second (1631); Charles II a third (1663), of which 
the Duke of York was president, and again a fourth, in which 
he himself, as well as the Duke, was a subscriber. Nor did the 
expulsion of the Stuarts cause any change of feeling in this re- 
spect. England's sharpest stroke of business at the Peace of 
Utrecht (1713) was the obtaining for herself the shameful mo- 
nopoly of the "Asiento" — the slave trade with the Spanish West 
Indies — undertaking "to bring into the West Indies of America 
belonging to his Catholic majesty, in the space of thirty years, 
one hundred forty-four thousand negroes," at the rate of forty- 
eight hundred a year, at a fixed rate of duty, with the right 
to import any further number at a lower rate. As nearly the 
whole shores of the Gulf of Mexico were still Spanish, England 
thus contributed to build up slavery in most of the future South- 
ern States of the Union. Whether for foreign or for English col- 
onies, it is reckoned that, from 1700 to 1750, English ships car- 
ried away from Africa probably a million and a half of negroes, 
of whom one-eighth never lived to see the opposite shore. 

In the same spirit England dealt with her colonies. When 
Virginia imposed a tax on the import of negroes, the law had to 
give way before the interest of the African Company. The same 
course was followed many years later toward South Carolina, 
when an act of the provincial Assembly laying a heavy duty on 
imported slaves was vetoed by the crown (1761). Indeed, the 
title to a political tract published in 1745, The African Slave 
Trade, the Great Pillar and Support 0} the British Plantation 
Trade in America, appears fairly to express the prevalent feeling 
of the mother- country on the subject before the War of Inde- 
pendence. The most remarkable relaxation of the navigation 
laws in the eighteenth century was the throwing open the slave 
trade by the act " for extending and improving the trade to Af- 
rica," which, after reciting that "the trade to and from Africa 


is very advantageous to Great Britain, and necessary for the sup- 
plying the plantations and colonies thereunto belonging with a 
sufficient number of negroes at reasonable rates/ ' enacted that 
it should be lawful "for all his majesty's subjects to trade and 
traffick to and from any port or place in Africa, between the port 
of Sallee in South Barbary and the Cape of Good Hope. ,, By 
1763 there were about three hundred thousand negroes in the 
North American colonies. 

It seemed at first as if the black man would gain by the Rev- 
olution. The mulatto Attucks was one of the victims of the Bos- 
ton Massacre, and was buried with honor among the "martyrs 
of liberty. " At the first call to arms the negroes freely enlisted; 
but a meeting of the general officers decided against their enlist- 
ment in the new army of 1775. The free negroes were greatly 
dissatisfied. Lest they should transfer their services to the Brit- 
ish, Washington gave leave to enlist them, and it is certain that 
they served throughout the war, shoulder to shoulder with white 
men. At the battle of Monmouth there were more than seven 
hundred black men in the field. Rhode Island formed a battal- 
ion of negroes, giving liberty to every slave enlisting, with com- 
pensation to his owner; and the battalion did good service. But 
Washington always considered the policy of arming slaves "a 
moot point," unless the enemy set the example; and though 
Congress recommended Georgia and South Carolina to raise 
three thousand negroes for the war, giving full "compensation 
to the proprietors of such negroes," South Carolina refused to do 
so, and Georgia had been already overrun by the British when 
the advice was brought. 

Notwithstanding the early adoption of a resolution against 
the importation of slaves into any of the thirteen colonies (April 
6, 1776), Jefferson's fervid paragraph condemning the slave trade, 
and by implication slavery, was struck out of the Declaration 
of Independence in deference to South Carolina and Georgia, 
and a member from South Carolina declared that "if prop- 
erty in slaves should be questioned there must be an end to con- 
federation." The resolution of Congress itself against the slave 
trade bound no single State, although a law to this effect was 
adopted by Virginia in 1778, and subsequently by all the other 
States; but this was so entirely a matter of State concernment 


that neither was any prohibition of the trade contained in the 
Articles of Confederation, nor was any suffered to be inserted in 
the treaty of peace. 

The feeling against slavery itself, was strong in the North. 
Vermont, in forming a constitution for herself in 1777, allowed 
no slavery, and was punished for doing so when she applied for 
admission as a State with the consent of New York, from which 
she had seceded in 1781 : the Southern States refusing to admit 
her for the present, lest the balance of power should be destroyed. 
Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, directly or indirectly, abol- 
ished slavery in 1780, New Hampshire in 1783. They were fol- 
lowed the next year by Connecticut and Rhode Island, so that 
by 1784 slavery would be practically at an end in New England 
and Pennsylvania. Other States — Virginia, Delaware, New Jer- 
sey — went no further than to pass laws for allowing voluntary 
emancipation. In strange contrast to these, Virginia is found 
in 1780 offering a negro by way of bounty to any white man en- 
listing for the war. The great Virginians of the day, however — 
Jefferson, Patrick Henry, George Mason — were opposed to slav- 
ery, and large numbers of slaves were emancipated in the State. 

So much and no more did the black man get from the Amer- 
icans. It seemed at first, when Lord Dunmore issued his proc- 
lamation offering freedom to all slaves who should join the Brit- 
ish standard, as if they were to get much more from England. 
Accordingly, Governor Rutledge of South Carolina declared in 
1780 that the negroes offered up their prayers in favor of Eng- 
land. But although Lord Dunmore persisted in recommending 
the arming and emancipation of the blacks, neither the ministry 
at home nor the British officers would enter into the plan. Lord 
George Germain authorized the confiscation and sale of slaves, 
even of those who voluntarily followed the troops. Indians were 
encouraged to catch them and bring them in; they were dis- 
tributed as prizes and shipped to the West Indies, two thousand 
at one time, being valued at two hundred fifty silver dollars 
each. The English name became a terror to the black man, and 
when Greene took the command they flocked in numbers to his 
standard. The terms of the peace forbade the British troops to 
carry away " negroes or other property." Whichever side he 
might fight for, the poor black man earned no gratitude. 


Yet in little more than three-quarters of a century the politi- 
cal complications arising out of the wrongs inflicted on him 
were to involve the States that had just won their independence 
in a civil war in comparison with which the struggle to throw off 
the yoke of the mother- country would appear almost as child's 


A.D. 1620 


No event in American history is more famous throughout the world, 
and none has been followed by results more potent in the making of this 
country, than the settlement of the Pilgrims at Plymouth. This pioneer 
company, which founded the second English colony in the New World, 
was composed of Puritans who had left the Church of England, and were 
known as Independents or Separatists. 

In the later years of the sixteenth century the tyranny of the Ecclesi- 
astical Commission drove multitudes of English churchmen into the ranks 
of the dissenters. At last this tyranny, and the threats of King James 
I, caused some of the Independents to leave the country. 

An Independent Church, mainly composed of simple country people, 
was formed in 1606 at Scrooby, in Nottinghamshire. At its head were 
John Robinson, the pastor, and William Brewster, often called Elder 
Brewster, who was postmaster at Scrooby. Robinson was distinguished 
alike for his learning and his tolerant spirit. Another leader was William 
Bradford, then but seventeen years old. He was afterward Governor of 
Plymouth colony for thirty years, and was its historian. 

For some time the members of this Church quietly endured persecu- 
tion at the hands of the King's officers. Then they began to talk of flee- 
ing to Holland, whither other dissenters had already escaped. In 1607 
some of the Scrooby congregation unsuccessfully attempted the flight. 
A few months later they succeeded in reaching Amsterdam, where they 
intended to remain. But finding the English exiles there involved in 
theological disputes, they acted on Robinson's advice and sought a more 
peaceful home in Leyden. 

Here, about three hundred in number, they arrived in 1609, soon after 
Spain had granted Holland the Twelve Years' Peace, after the long 
Netherland wars. For eleven years the Pilgrims, as they were already 
called, remained in their new home, living by various employments. 
During that time the colony increased to more than a thousand souls. 

COR several years the exiled Pilgrims abode at Leyden in com- 
parative peace. So mutual was the esteem of both pastor 
and people that it might be said of them, "as of the Emperor 
Marcus Aurelius and the people of Rome : it was hard to judge 



whether he delighted more in having such a people, or they in 
having such a pastor." With their spiritual, their temporal 
interests were objects of his care, so that he was "every way as 
a common father to them." And when removed from them by 
death, as he was in a few years, they sustained "such a loss as 
they saw could not be easily repaired, for it was as hard for them 
to find such another leader and feeder as the Taborites to find 
another Ziska." 

Eight years' residence, however, in a land of strangers, sub- 
jected to its trials and burdened with its sorrows, satisfied this 
little band that Holland could not be for them a permanent 
home. The "hardness of the place" discouraged their friends 
from joining them. Premature age was creeping upon the vig- 
orous. Severe toil enfeebled their children. The corruption 
of the Dutch youth was pernicious in its influence. They were 
Englishmen, attached to the land of their nativity. The Sab- 
bath, to them a sacred institution, was openly neglected. A 
suitable education was difficult to be obtained for their children. 
The truce with Spain was drawing to a close, and the renewal of 
hostilities was seriously apprehended. But the motive above 
all others which prompted their removal was a "great hope and 
inward zeal of laying some good foundation for the propagating 
and advancing of the Gospel of the Kingdom of Christ in these 
remote parts of the world; yea, though they should be but as 
stepping-stones to others for performing of so great a work." 

For these reasons — and were they frivolous ? — a removal was 
resolved upon. They could not in peace return to England. 
It was dangerous to remain in the land of their exile. Whither, 
then, should they go ? Where should an asylum for their children 
be reared ? This question, so vital, was first discussed privately, 
by the gravest and wisest of the Church; then publicly, by all. 
The "casualties of the seas," the "length of the voyage," the 
"miseries of the land," the "cruelty of the savages," the "ex- 
pense of the outfit," the "ill-success of other colonies," and 
"their own sad experience" in their removal to Holland were 
urged as obstacles which must doubtless be encountered. But, 
as a dissuasive from discouragement, it was remarked that "all 
great and honorable actions are accompanied with great diffi- 
culties, and must both be enterprised and overcome with an- 


swerable courages. It was granted the dangers very great, but 
not invincible; for although there were many of them likely, 
yet they were not certain. Some of the things they feared might 
never befall them; others, by providence, care, and the use of 
good means might in a great measure be prevented ; and all of 
them, through the help of God, by fortitude or patience might 
either be borne or overcome." 

Whither should they turn their steps ? Some, and " none of 
the meanest," were " earnest for Guiana." Others, of equal 
worth, were in favor of Virginia, " where the English had al- 
ready made entrance and beginning." But a majority were 
for "living in a distinct body by themselves, though under the 
general government of Virginia." For Guiana, it was said, 
"the country was rich, fruitful, and blessed with a perpetual 
spring and a flourishing greenness"; and the Spaniards "had 
not planted there nor anywhere near the same." Guiana was 
the El Dorado of the age. Sir Walter Raleigh, its discoverer, 
had described its tropical voluptuousness in the most captivating 
terms; and Chapman, the poet, dazzled by its charms, exclaims: 

" Guiana, whose rich feet are mines of gold, 
Whose forehead knocks against the roof of stars, 
Stands on her tiptoe at fair England looking, 
Kissing her hands, bowing her mighty breast, 
And every sign of all submission making, 
To be the sister and the daughter both 
Of our most sacred maid." 

Is it surprising that the thoughts of the exiles were enraptured 
in contemplating this beautiful land ? Was it criminal to seek a 
pleasant abode? But as an offset to its advantages, its "griev- 
ous diseases" and "noisome impediments" were vividly por- 
trayed; and it was urged that, should they settle there and 
prosper, the "jealous Spaniard" might displace and expel them, 
as he had already the French from their settlements in Florida; 
and this the sooner, as there would be none to protect them, and 
their own strength was inadequate to cope with so powerful an 

Against settling in Virginia it was urged that, "if they lived 
among the English there planted, or under their government, 
they would be in as great danger to be persecuted for the cause 


of religion as if they lived in England, and it might be worse, and, 
if they lived too far off, they should have neither succor nor 
defence from them." Upon the whole, therefore, it was decided 
to "live in a distinct body by themselves, under the general gov- 
ernment of Virginia, and by their agents to sue his majesty to 
grant them free liberty and freedom of religion." 

Accordingly John Carver, one of the deacons of the Church, 
and Robert Cushman, a private member, were sent to England 
to treat with the Virginia Company for a grant of land, and to 
solicit of the King liberty of conscience. The friends from whom 
aid was expected, and to some of whom letters were written, 
were Sir Edwin Sandys, the distinguished author of the Europce 
Speculum; Sir Robert Maunton, afterward secretary of state ; and 
Sir John Wolstenholme, an eminent merchant and a farmer of 
the customs. Sir Ferdinando Georges seems also to have been 
interested in their behalf, as he speaks of means used by himself, 
before his rupture with the Virginia Company, to "draw into 
their enterprises some of those families that had retired into Hol- 
land, for scruple of conscience, giving them such freedom and 
liberty as might stand with their likings." 

The messengers — "God going along with them" — bore a 
missive signed by the principal members of the Church, com- 
mending them to favor, and conducted their mission with discre- 
tion and propriety ; but as their instructions were not plenary, they 
soon returned, bearing a letter from Sir Edwin Sandys, approv- 
ing their diligence and proffering aid. The next month a sec- 
ond embassy was despatched, with an answer to Sir Edwin's 
letter, in which, for his encouragement, the exiles say: "We 
believe and trust the Lord is with us, and will graciously prosper 
our endeavors accordingly to the simplicity of our hearts there- 
in. We are well weaned from the delicate milk of our mother- 
country and inured to the difficulties of a strange and hard land. 
The people are, for the body of them, industrious and frugal. 
We are knit together in a strict and sacred bond and covenant of 
the Lord, of the violation whereof we make great conscience, 
and by virtue whereof we hold ourselves strictly tied to all care of 
others' goods. It is not with us, as with others, whom small 
things can discourage, or small discontentments cause to wish 
themselves at home again." 


For the information of the council of the company ; the 
" requests" of the Church were sent, signed by nearly the whole 
congregation, and, in a letter to Sir John Wolstenholme, explana- 
tion was given of their "judgments" upon three points named 
by his majesty's privy council, in which they affirmed that 
they differed nothing in doctrine and but little in discipline from 
the French reformed churches, and expressed their willingness 
to take the oath of supremacy if required, "if that convenient 
satisfaction be not given by our taking the oath of allegiance." 

The new agents, upon their arrival in England, found the 
Virginia Company anxious for their emigration to America, and 
"willing to give them a patent with as ample privileges as they 
had or could grant to any"; and some of the chief members of 
the company "doubted not to obtain their suit of the King for 
liberty in religion." But the last "proved a harder work than 
they took it for." Neither James nor his bishops would grant 
such a request. The "advancement of his dominions" and 
"the enlargement of the Gospel" his majesty acknowledged to 
be "an honorable motive"; and "fishing" — the secular busi- 
ness they expected to follow — "was an honest trade, the apostle's 
own calling"; but for any further liberties he referred them to 
the prelates of Canterbury and London. All that could be 
obtained from the King after the most diligent "sounding " was 
a verbal promise that "he would connive at them and not molest 
them, provided they conducted themselves peaceably; but to 
allow or tolerate them under his seal " he would not consent. 

With this answer the messengers returned, and their report 
was discouraging to the hopes of the exiles. Should they trust 
their monarch's word, when bitter experience had taught them 
the ease with which it could be broken ? And yet, reasoned some, 
"his word may be as good as his bond; for if he purposes to 
injure us, though we have a seal as broad as the house-floor, 
means will be found to recall or reverse it." In this as in other 
matters, therefore, they relied upon Providence, trusting that 
distance would prove as effectual a safeguard as the word of a 
prince which had been so often forfeited. 

Accordingly other agents were sent to procure a patent, and 
to negotiate with such merchants as had expressed a willingness 
to aid them with funds. On reaching England these agents 
e., vol. xi.— 7. ... 


found a division existing in the Virginia Company, growing out 
of difficulties between Sir Thomas Smith and Sir Edwin Sandys ; 
and disagreeable intelligence had been received from Virginia 
of disturbances in the colony which had there been established. 
For these reasons little could be immediately effected. At 
length, after tedious delays, and "messengers passing to and 
fro," a patent was obtained, which, by the advice of friends, was 
taken in the name of John Wincob, a gentleman in the family of 
the Countess of Lincoln; and with this document, and the pro- 
posals of Mr. Thomas Weston, one of the agents returned, and 
submitted the same to the Church for inspection. The nature 
of these proposals has never transpired, nor is the original patent 
— the first which the Pilgrims received — known to be in existence. 
Future inquirers may discover this instrument, as recently other 
documents have been rescued from oblivion. We should be glad 
to be acquainted with its terms, were it only to know definitely 
the region it embraced. But if ever discovered, we will hazard 
the conjecture that it will be found to cover territory now in- 
cluded in New York. 

Upon the reception of the patent and the accompanying pro- 
posals, as every enterprise of the Pilgrims began from God — a 
day of fasting and prayer was appointed to seek divine guidance; 
and Mr. Robinson, whose services were ever appropriate, dis- 
coursed to his flock from the words in Samuel: "And David's 
men said unto him, See, we be afraid here in Judah : how much 
more if we come to Keilah, against the host of the Philistines ?" 
Next followed a discussion " as to how many and who should go 
first." All were ready and anxious to embark; but funds were 
wanting to defray their expenses. It was concluded, therefore, 
that the youngest and strongest should be the pioneers of the 
Church, and that the eldest and weakest should follow at a future 
date. If the Lord "frowned" upon their proceedings the first 
emigrants were to return, but if he prospered and favored them 
they were to "remember and help over the ancient and poor." 
As the emigrants proved the minority, it was agreed that the 
pastor should remain in Holland, and that Mr. Brewster, the 
£lder, should accompany those who were to leave. Each party 
was to be an absolute church in itself; and as any went or came 
they were to be admitted to fellowship without further testi- 


monies. Thus the church at Plymouth was the first in New Eng- 
land established upon the basis of Independent Congregation- 

Early the next spring Mr. Weston visited Leyden to con- 
clude the arrangements for "shipping and money," and Messrs. 
Carver and Cushman returned with him to England to " receive 
the money and provide for the voyage.'' The latter was to tarry 
in London, and the former was to proceed to Southampton; 
Mr. Christopher Martin, of Billerrica, in Essex, was to join 
them; and from the " county of Essex came several others, as 
also from London and other places." 

Pending these negotiations, the property of those who were 
to embark was sold, and the proceeds were added to the common 
fund, with which vessels, provisions, and other necessaries were 
to be obtained. But Mr. Weston already half repented his en- 
gagements, and, more interested in trade than in religion, he 
informed his associates that " sundry honorable lords and worthy 
gentlemen" were treating for a patent for New England, dis- 
tinct from the Virginia patent, and advised them to alter their 
plans and ally with the new company. At the same time their 
agents sent word that "some of those who should have gone fell 
off and would not go; other merchants and friends that pro- 
fessed to adventure their money withdrew and pretended many 
excuses: some disliking they went not to Guiana; others would 
do nothing unless they went to Virginia; and many who were 
most relied on refused to adventure if they went thither." Such 
discouragements would have disheartened men of a less sanguine 
temperament, and for a time the Pilgrims were "driven to great 
straits"; but as the patent for New England had not passed the 
seals, it was deemed useless to linger longer in uncertainty, and 
they "resolved to adventure with that patent they had." 

Their greatest hardship was the compact with the merchants. 
The Pilgrims were poor and their funds were limited. They 
had no alternative, therefore, but to associate with others ; and, 
as often happens in such cases, wealth took advantage of their 
impoverished condition. By their instructions the terms on 
which their agents were to engage with the adventurers were 
definitely fixed, and no alteration was to be made without con- 
sultation. But time was precious; the business was urgent; it 


had already been delayed so long that many were impatient ; and 
to satisfy the merchants, who drove their bargain sharply and 
shrewdly, some changes were made, and by ten tight articles the 
emigrants were bound to them for the term of seven years. At 
the end of this period, by the original compact, the houses and 
improved lands were to belong wholly to the planters; and each 
colonist having a family to support was to be allowed two days 
in each week to labor for their benefit. The last is a liberty 
enjoyed by "even a Wallachian serf or a Spanish slave"; and 
the refusal of the merchants to grant so reasonable a request 
caused great complaint; but Mr. Cushman answered peremp- 
torily that, unless they had consented to the change, "the whole 
design would have fallen to the ground, and, necessity having no 
law, they were constrained to be silent." As it was, it threatened 
a seven years' check to the pecuniary prosperity of the colony; 
but as it did not interfere with their civil or religious rights, it 
was submitted to with the less reluctance, though never accept- 

At this critical juncture, while the Pilgrims were in such per- 
plexity, and surrounded by so many difficulties, the Dutch, who 
were perfectly acquainted with their proceedings, and who could 
not but be sensible that the patent they had obtained of the Vir- 
ginia Company, if sanctioned by the government of England, 
would interfere seriously with their projected West India Com- 
pany, and with their settlement at New Netherland, stepped for- 
ward with the proposals of the most inviting and apparently 
disinterested and liberal character. Knowing that but a portion 
of the Church were preparing to embark for America, and that 
all would be glad to emigrate in a body, overtures were made to 
Mr. Robinson, as pastor, that he and his flock, and their friends 
in England, would embark under the auspices of the Lords States- 
General, themselves should be transported to America free of 
expense, and cattle should be furnished for their subsistence on 
their arrival. These are the "liberal offers" alluded to in gen- 
eral terms by early Pilgrim writers, and which are uniformly 
represented as having originated with the Dutch, though re- 
cently it has been suggested, and even asserted, that the over- 
tures came from the Pilgrims themselves. But there is an inher- 
ent improbability in this last representation, arising from the fact 


that much time had been spent in procuring a patent in England, 
and in negotiating with the adventurers for the requisite funds, 
and an avowed object with the Pilgrims in leaving Holland was 
to preserve their nationality. They had no motive, therefore, to 
originate such a proposition, though when made to them by 
the Dutch it may have proved so attractive that they were will- 
ing to accept it upon certain conditions, of which one was that the 
government of Holland should guarantee to protect them. 

This concession was enough for the merchants to act upon. 
"They saw at once that so many families going in a body to 
New Netherland could hardly fail to form a successful colony." 
But the political part of the question they were unable to decide. 
They were ready to expend their capital in carrying the emi- 
grants to New Netherland and in supplying them with neces- 
saries; but they had no authority to promise that the Dutch 
government would afford to the colonists special protection after 
their arrival there. " They therefore determined to apply di- 
rectly to the general government at The Hague. " 

The Prince of Orange was then in the zenith of his power; 
and to him, as stadtholder, the merchants repaired with a me- 
morial, professedly in the name of the " English preacher at 
Leyden," praying that "the aforesaid preacher and four hundred 
families may be taken under the protection of the United Prov- 
inces, and that two ships-of-war may be sent to secure, pro- 
visionally, the said lands to this government, since such lands 
may be of great importance whenever the West India Com- 
pany shall be organized." 

The Stadtholder was too wary a politician to approbate im- 
mediately so sweeping a proposal, and referred it to the States- 
General. For two months it was before this body, where it was 
several times discussed; and finally, after repeated delibera- 
tions, it was resolved "peremptorily to reject the prayer of the 
memorialists." Nor can we doubt the wisdom of the policy 
which prompted this decision. It was well known in Holland 
that the English claimed the territory of New Netherland. The 
Dutch had hitherto been tolerated in settling there, because they 
had not openly interfered with the trade of the English. But 
should they now send over a body of English emigrants, under 
the tricolored flag, designed to found a colony for the benefit 


of the Batavian republic, the prudent foresaw that a collision 
would be inevitable, and might result disastrously to the inter- 
ests of their nation. Mr. Robinson and his associates, though 
exiles, were Englishmen, and would be held as such in Holland 
or America. Hence, had the Pilgrims emigrated under the aus- 
pices of the Dutch, and had James I demanded of them the 
allegiance of subjects, they would have been compelled to sub- 
mit, or the nation which backed them would have been forced 
into war. There was wisdom, therefore, in the policy which re- 
jected the memorial of the merchants. 

In consequence of the disaffection of Mr. Weston, there were 
complaints of his delay in providing the necessary shipping; 
but at last the Speedwell, of sixty tons — miserable misnomer — 
was purchased in Holland for the use of the emigrants; and 
the Mayflower, of a hundred eighty tons — whose name is im- 
mortal — was chartered in England, and was fitting for their 
reception. The cost of the outfit, including a trading stock of 
seventeen hundred pounds, was but twenty-four hundred 
pounds — about twelve thousand dollars of the currency of the 
United States ! It marks the poverty of the Pilgrims that their 
own funds were inadequate to meet such a disbursement; and 
it marks the narrowness of the adventurers that they doled the 
sum so grudgingly, and exacted such securities for their per- 
sonal indemnity. There were some generous hearts among the 
members of this company — true and tried friends of the exiles 
in their troubles — but many of them were illiberal and self- 
ish, and had very little sympathy with the principles of their 

As the time of departure drew near, a day of public humili- 
ation was observed — the last that the emigrants kept with their 
pastor — and on this memorable occasion Mr. Robinson dis- 
coursed to them from the words in Ezra: "And there, at the 
river, by Ahava, I proclaimed a fast, that we might humble our- 
selves before God, and seek of him a right way for us, and for 
our children, and for all of our substance." The catholic advice 
of this excellent man was worthy to be addressed to the Founders 
of New England : 

"We are now ere long to part asunder; and the Lord only 
knoweth whether ever I shall Hve to see your faces again. But, 


whether he hath appointed this or not, I charge you, before him 
and his blessed angels, to follow me no further than I have fol- 
lowed Christ ; and if God should reveal anything to you by any 
other instrument of his, be as ready to receive it as ever you were 
to receive any truth by my ministry ; and I am confident that the 
Lord hath more light and truth yet to break forth out of his holy 
Word. For my part, I cannot but bewail the condition of the 
reformed churches, who are come to a period of religion, and 
will go no further than the instruments of their reformation. 
The Lutherans, for example, cannot be drawn to go beyond 
what Luther saw; and whatever part of God's will he hath 
further imparted to Calvin, they will rather die than embrace; 
and so the Calvinists stick where he left them. This is a misery 
much to be lamented, for, though they were precious shining 
lights in their times, God hath not revealed his whole will to 
them; and were they now living, they would be as ready and 
willing to embrace further lights as that they did receive. 

" Remember also your church covenants, and especially that 
part of it whereby you promise and covenant with God and one 
with another, to receive whatsoever light or truth shall be made 
known to you from his written Word. But take heed what you 
receive for truth, and examine, compare, and weigh it well with 
the Scriptures. It is not possible that the Christian world should 
come so lately out of such thick anti- Christian darkness, and that 
full perfection of knowledge should break forth at once. Shake 
off, too, the name of Brownists, for it is but a nickname, and a 
brand to make religion odious, and the professors of it, to the 
Christian world. And be ready to close with the godly party of 
the kingdom of England, and rather study union than disunion 
— how near you may, without sin, close with them, than in the 
least manner to affect disunion or separation.'' 

At the conclusion of this discourse those who were to leave 
were feasted at their pastor's house, where, after " tears," warm 
and gushing, from the fulness of their hearts, the song of praise 
and thanksgiving was raised; and "truly," says an auditor, "it 
was the sweetest melody that ever mine ears heard." But 
the parting hour has come ! The Speedwell lies at Delfthaven, 
twenty-two miles south of Leyden, and thither the emigrants are 
accompanied by their friends, and by others from Amsterdam 


who are present to pray for the success of their voyage. "So 
they left that goodly and pleasant city, which had been their resting- 
place near twelve years. But they knew they were Pilgrims, and 
looked not much on those things, and quieted their spirits" 

The last night was spent "with little sleep by the most, but 
with friendly entertainment and Christian discourse, arid other 
real expressions of true Christian love." On the morrow they 
sailed; "and truly doleful was the sight of that sad and mourn- 
ful parting; to see what sighs and sobs and prayers did sound 
among them; what tears did gush from every eye, and pithy 
speeches pierced each other's hearts; that sundry of the Dutch 
strangers, that stood on the quay as spectators, could not refrain 
from tears. Yet comfortable and sweet it was to see such lively 
and true expressions of dear and unfeigned love. But the tide, 
which stays for no man, calling them away that were thus loth 
to depart, their reverend pastor, falling down on his knees, and 
they all with him, with watery cheeks, commended them with 
most fervent prayers to the Lord and his blessing; and then, 
with mutual embraces and many tears, they took their leave 
one of another, which proved to be the last leave to many of 

At starting they gave their friends "a volley of small shot 
and three pieces of ordnance"; and so, "lifting up their hands 
to each other, and their hearts for each other to the Lord God," 
they set sail, and found his presence with them, "in the midst of 
the manifold straits he carried them through." Favored by 
a prosperous gale they soon reached Southampton, where lay 
the Mayflower in readiness with the rest of their company; and 
after a joyful welcome and mutual congratulations, they "fell 
to parley about their proceedings." 

In about a fortnight the Speedwell, commanded by Cap- 
tain Reynolds, and the Mayflower, commanded by Captain 
Jones — both having a hundred twenty passengers on board 
— were ready to set out to cross the Atlantic. Overseers of the 
provisions and passengers were selected ; Mr. Weston and others 
were present to witness their departure; and the farewell was 
said to the friends they were to leave. But "not every cloudless 
morning is followed by a pleasant day." Scarcely had the two 
barks left the harbor ere Captain Reynolds complained of 


the leakiness of the Speedwell, and both put in at Dartmouth 
for repairs. At the end of eight precious days they started again, 
but had sailed "only a hundred leagues beyond the land's end" 
when the former complaints were renewed, and the vessels put 
in at Plymouth, where, "by the consent of the whole company," 
the Speedwell was dismissed; and as the Mayflower could 
accommodate but one hundred passengers, twenty of those 
who had embarked in the smaller vessel — including Mr. Cush- 
man and his family — were compelled to return; and matters 
being ordered with reference to this arrangement, "another sad 
parting took place." 

Finally, after the lapse of two more precious weeks, the 
Mayflower, "freighted with the destinies of a continent," and 
having on board one hundred passengers, resolute men, wom- 
en, and children, "loosed from Plymouth" — "her inmates 
having been kindly entertained and courteously used by divers 
friends there dwelling" — and, with the wind "east-northeast, a 
fine small gale," was soon far at sea. 

The particulars of this voyage, more memorable by far than 
the famed expedition of the Argonauts, and paralleled, if at all, 
only by the voyage of Columbus, are few and scanty. Though 
fair winds wafted the bark onward for a season, contrary 
winds and fierce storms were soon encountered, by which she 
was "shrewdly shaken" and her "upper works made very 
leaky." One of the main beams of the midship was also 
"bowed and cracked," but a passenger having brought with him 
"a large iron screw," the beam was replaced and carefully 
fastened, and the vessel continued on. During this storm John 
Howland, "a stout young man," was by a "heel of the ship 
thrown into the sea, but catching by the halliards, which hung 
overboard, he kept his hold, and was saved." "A profane and 
proud young seaman," also, "stout and able of body, who had 
despised the poor people in their sickness, telling them he hoped 
to help cast off half of them overboard before they came to their 
journey's end, and to make merry with what they had, was 
smitten with a grievous disease, of which he died in a desperate 
manner, and was himself the first thrown overboard, to the 
astonishment of all his fellows." One other death occurred — 
that of William Button, a servant of Dr. Fuller; and there was 


one birth, in the family of Stephen Hopkins, of a son, christened 
" Oceanus," who died shortly after the landing. The ship being 
leaky, and the passengers closely stowed, their clothes were con- 
stantly wet. This added much to the discomfort of the voyage, 
and laid a foundation for a portion of the mortality which pre- 
vailed the first winter. 

"Land-ho!" This welcome cry was not heard until two 
months had elapsed, and the sandy cliffs of Cape Cod were the 
first points which greeted the eyes of the exiles. Yet the appear- 
ance of these cliffs "much comforted them, and caused them to 
rejoice together, and praise God, that had given them once again 
to see land." Their destination, however, was to "the mouth 
of the Hudson," and now they were much farther to the north, 
and within the bounds of the New England Company. They 
therefore " tacked to stand to the southward," but "becoming 
entangled among roaring shoals, and the wind shrieking upon 
them withal, they resolved to bear up again for the Cape," and 
the next day, "by God's providence, they got into Cape har- 
bor," where, falling upon their knees, they "blessed the Lord, 
the God of heaven, who had brought them over the vast and 
furious ocean, and delivered them from all perils and miseries, 
therein, again to set their feet on the firm and stable earth, their 
proper element." 

Morton, in his memorial, asserts that the Mayflower put 
in at this cape, "partly by reason of a storm by which she was 
forced in, but more especially by the fraudulency and contrivance 
of the aforesaid Mr. Jones, the master of the ship; for their in- 
tention and his engagement was to Hudson's river; but some of 
the Dutch having notice of their intention, and having thoughts 
about the same time of erecting a plantation there likewise, they 
fraudulently hired the said Jones, by delays, while they were in 
England, and now under the pretence of the sholes, etc., to dis- 
appoint them in their going thither. Of this plot betwixt the 
Dutch and Mr. Jones I have had late and certain intelligence" 
The explicitness of this assertion has caused charge of treachery 
— brought by no one but Morton — to be repeated by almost 
every historian down to the present period ; and it is only within 
a few years that its correctness has been questioned by writers 
whose judgment is entitled to respect. But notwithstanding the 


plausibility of the arguments urged to disprove this charge, and 
even the explicit assertion that it is a " Parthian calumny," and 
a " sheer falsehood," we must frankly own that, in our estima- 
tion, the veracity of Morton yet remains unimpeached. Facts 
prove that the Dutch were contemplating permanent settlement 
of New Netherland, and the early Pilgrim writers assert that 
overtures were made to the Leyden Church by the merchants of 
Holland to join them in that movement, and the petition to the 
States- General, when presented by those merchants, was finally 
rejected, and the Mayflower commenced her voyage intend- 
ing to proceed to the Hudson. Is it improbable that steps may 
have been taken to frustrate their intention, and that arrange- 
ments may even have been made with the captain of that vessel 
by Dutch agents in England, to alter her course, and land the 
emigrants farther to the north? 

We are aware that one to whose judgment we have usually 
deferred has said that had the intelligence been early it would 
have been more certain. But every student of history knows 
that late intelligence is often more reliable and authentic than 
early ; and if it be asked from what source did Morton obtain his 
information, we can only suggest that, up to 1664, New Nether- 
lands remained under the dominion of the Dutch, and the his- 
tory of that colony was in a great measure secret to the English. 
But several of the prominent settlers of Plymouth had ere this 
removed to Manhattan — as Isaac Allerton and Thomas Willet 
— and after the reduction of the country and its subjection to 
England, from these persons the late and certain intelligence may 
have been received, or from access to documents which were 
before kept private. 

The harbor in which the Mayflower now lay is worthy of a 
passing glance. It is described by Major Grahame as "one 
of the finest harbors for ships of war on the whole Atlantic coast. 
The width and freedom from obstructions of every kind, at its 
entrance, and the extent of sea-room upon the land side, make 
it accessible to vessels of the largest class in almost all winds. 
This advantage, its capacity, depth of water, excellent anchor- 
age, and the complete shelter it affords from all winds render 
it one of the most valuable harbors upon our coast, whether 
considered in a commercial or a military point of view." 


If to the advantages here enumerated could have been added 
a fertile soil, and an extensive back country, suitably furnished 
with timber and fuel, the spot to which this gallant bark was 
led would have proved as eligible a site for a flourishing colony 
as could possibly have been desired. But these advantages 
were wanting; and though our fathers considered it an "ex- 
traordinary blessing of God " in directing their course for these 
parts, which they were at first inclined to consider "one of the 
most pleasant, most healthful, and most fruitful parts of the 
world," longer acquaintance and better information abundantly 
satisfied them of the insuperable obstacles to agriculture and 

The Pilgrims were now ready to pass to the shore. But be- 
fore taking this step, as the spot where they lay was without the 
bounds of their patent, and as signs of insubordination had 
appeared among their servants, an association was deemed 
necessary, and an agreement to "combine in one body and to 
submit to such government and governors as should by com- 
mon consent" be selected and chosen. Accordingly, a compact 
was prepared, and signed before landing by all the males of the 
company who were of age; and this instrument was the consti- 
tution of the colony for several years. It was as follows : 

"In the name of God, Amen. We whose names are under- 
written, the loyal subjects of our dread sovereign lord, King 
James, by the grace of God, of Great Britain, France, and Ire- 
land, King, defender of the faith, etc., having undertaken, for 
the glory of God, and the advancement of the Christian faith, 
and honor of our King and country, a voyage to plant the first 
colony in the northern parts of Virginia, do, by these presents, 
solemnly and mutually, in the presence of God and one another, 
covenant and combine ourselves together unto a civil body politic, 
for our better ordering and preservation, and furtherance of 
the ends aforesaid, and by virtue hereof to enact, constitute, 
and frame such just and equal laws, ordinances, acts, constitu- 
tions, and offices, from time to time, as shall be thought most 
meet and convenient for the general good of the colony; unto 
which we promise all due submission and obedience. In witness 
whereof we have hereunder subscribed our names, at Cape Cod, 
the nth of November, in the year of the reign of our sovereign 


lord, King James of England, France, and Ireland, the 18th, 
and of Scotland the 54th, a.d. 1620." 

While on the one hand much eloquence has been expended 
in expatiating on this compact, as if in the cabin of the May- 
flower had consciously and for the first time been discovered in 
an age of Cimmerian darkness the true principles of republican- 
ism and equality; on the other hand, it has been asserted that 
the Pilgrims were " actuated by the most daring ambition," and 
that even at this early period they designed to erect a govern- 
ment absolutely independent of the mother-country. But the 
truth seems to be that, although the form of government adopted 
by the emigrants is republican in its character, and remarkably 
liberal, at the same time its founders acknowledged suitable 
allegiance to England, and regarded themselves as connected 
with the land of their nativity by political and social ties, both 
endearing and enduring. Left to themselves in a wilderness 
land, apart from all foreign aid, and thrown upon their own 
resources, with none to help or advise, they adopted that course 
which commended itself to their calm judgment as the simplest 
and best; and if, under such circumstances, their compact was 
democratic, it seems chiefly to intimate that self-government is 
naturally attractive to the mind, and is spontaneously resorted 
to in emergencies like the present. It is as unwise to flatter our 
ancestors by ascribing to them motives different from those which 
they themselves professed as it is unjust to prefer charges against 
them to which they are not obnoxious. They were honest, sin- 
cere, and God-fearing men; humble in their circumstances, and 
guided by their own judgment; but endowed with no singular 
prophetic vision, and claiming no preternatural political sagacity. 
They could penetrate the future no farther than to confide in the 
justice of God and the power of truth. The latter they knew 
must ultimately prevail, for the former was pledged to secure its 

The first care of the exiles, having established their provis- 
ional government, was to provide for their shelter. Cautiously, 
therefore, for fear of harm, on the same day that the compact was 
signed, fifteen or sixteen men, well armed, were set ashore at 
Long Point to explore the country; and returning at night with 
a boat-load of juniper, which delighted them with its fragrance, 


they reported that they had found " neither persons nor habita- 
tions. ,, 

The stillness of the Sabbath was consecrated to worship — 
the first, probably, ever observed by Christians in Massachusetts 
— and on the morrow the shallop was drawn to the beach for 
repairs, and for the first time the whole company landed for 
refreshment. As the fitting of the shallop promised to be a 
difficult task, the adventurous, impatient of delay, were eager to 
prosecute a journey by land for discovery. "The willingness 
of the persons was liked, but the thing itself, in regard of the 
danger, was rather permitted than approved." Consent, how- 
ever, was obtained, and sixteen were detailed under Captain 
Standish, their military leader, who had served in the armies 
both of Elizabeth and James; and William Bradford, Stephen 
Hopkins, and Edward Tilly, being joined with him as "advisers 
and counsellors/ ' the party debarked at Stevens' Point, at the 
western extremity of the harbor, and marching in single file, 
at the distance of about a mile, five savages were espied, who, at 
their approach, hastily fled. 

Compassing the head of East Harbor Creek the next day, 
and reaching a deep valley, fed with numerous springs, the ex- 
hausted travellers, whose provisions consisted but of "biscuit and 
Holland cheese, with a little bottle of aqua vitae," eagerly halted 
by one of these springs, and "drank their first draught of New 
England water with as much delight as ever they drunk drink in 
all their lives." Passing thence to the shore, and kindling a 
beacon-fire, they proceeded to another valley, in Truro, in which 
was a pond, " a musket-shot broad and twice as long," near which 
the Indians had planted corn. Further on graves were discov- 
ered ; and at another spot the ruins of a house, and heaps of sand 
filled with corn stored in baskets. With hesitancy — so scrupu- 
lous were they of wilfully wronging the natives — an old kettle, 
a waif from the ruins, was filled with this corn, for which the 
next summer the owners were remunerated. In the vicinity of 
the Pamet were the ruins of a fort, or palisade ; and encamping 
for the night near the pond in Truro, on the following day they 
returned to the ship "weary and welcome" and their "Eschol" 
was added for their diminishing stores. 

Ten days after, another expedition was fitted out, in which 


twenty-five of the colonists and nine or ten of the sailors, with 
Jones at their head, were engaged ; and visiting the mouth of the 
Pamet, called by them "Cold Harbor," and obtaining fresh 
supplies from the aboriginal granaries, after a brief absence, in 
which a few unimportant discoveries were made, the party 
returned. Here a discussion ensued. Should they settle at 
Cold Harbor or seek a more eligible site? In favor of the 
former it was urged that the harbor was suitable for boats, if 
not for ships; the corn land was good; it was convenient to their 
fishing-grounds ; the location was healthy ; winter was approach- 
ing; travelling was dangerous; their provisions were wasting; 
and the captain of the Mayflower was anxious to return. 
On the other hand, it was replied that a better place might be 
found; it would be a hinderance to move a second time; good 
spring- water was wanting ; and lastly, at Agawam, now Ipswich, 
twenty leagues to the north, was an excellent harbor, better 
ground, and better fishing. Robert Coppin, their pilot, like- 
wise informed them of "a great and navigable river and good 
harbour in the other headland of the bay, almost right over 
against Cape Cod," which he had formerly visited, and which 
was called "Thievish Harbor." 

A third expedition, therefore, was agreed upon ; and though 
the weather was unfavorable, and some difficulty was experi- 
enced in clearing Billingsgate Point, they reached the weather 
shore, and there "had better sailing." Yet bitter was the cold, 
and the spray, as it froze on them, gave them the appearance of 
being encased in glittering mail. At night their rendezvous was 
near Great Meadow Creek; and early in the morning, after an 
encounter with the Indians, in which no one was wounded, 
their journey was resumed, their destination being the harbor 
which Coppin had described to them, and which he assured them 
could be reached in a few hours' sailing. Through rain and snow 
they steered their course; but by the middle of the afternoon a 
fearful storm raged; the hinges of their rudder were broken; 
the mast was split, the sail was rent, and the inmates of the 
shallop were in imminent peril; yet, by God's mercy, they sur- 
vived the first shock, and, favored by a flood tide, steered into 
the harbor. A glance satisfied the pilot that it was not the place 
he sought; and in an agony of despair he exclaimed: "Lord be 


merciful to us! My eyes never saw this place before ! " In his 
frenzy he would have run the boat ashore among the breakers; 
but an intrepid seaman resolutely shouted, "About with her, or we 
are lost! ,, And instantly obeying, with hard rowing, dark as it 
was, with the wind howling fiercely, and the rain dashing furiously, 
they shot under the lee of an island and moored until morning. 

The next day the island was explored — now known as Clarke's 
Island — and the clothing of the adventurers was carefully dried; 
but, excusable as it might have been under the circumstances in 
which they were placed to have immediately resumed their re- 
searches, the Sabbath was devoutly and sacredly observed. 

On Monday, December nth, O. S., a landing was effected 
upon Forefather's Rock. The site of this stone was preserved 
by tradition, and a venerable contemporary of several of the 
Pilgrims, whose head was silvered with the frost of ninety-five 
winters, settled the question of its identity in 1741. Borne in 
his arm-chair by a grateful populace, Elder Faunce took his last 
look at the spot so endeared to his memory, and, bedewing it with 
tears, he bade it farewell. In 1774 this precious boulder, as 
if seized with the spirit of that bustling age, was raised from its 
bed to be consecrated to Liberty, and in the act of its elevation it 
split in twain — an occurrence regarded by many as ominous of 
the separation of the colonies from England, and the lower part 
being left in the spot where it still lies, the upper part, weighing 
several tons, was convoyed, amid the heartiest rejoicings, to 
Liberty-pole Square, and adorned with a flag bearing the im- 
perishable motto, "Liberty or Death." On July 4, 1834, the 
natal day of the freedom of the colonies, this part of the rock 
was removed to the ground in front of Pilgrim Hall, and there 
it rests, encircled with a railing, ornamented with heraldic 
wreaths, bearing the names of the forty-one signers of the com- 
pact in the Mayflower. Fragments of this rock are relics in 
the cabinets of hundreds of our citizens, and are sought with 
avidity even by strangers as memorials of a pilgrimage to the 
birthplace of New England. 

On the day of landing the harbor was sounded and the 
land explored; and, the place inviting settlement, the advent- 
urers returned with tidings of their success; the Mayflower 
weighed anchor to proceed to the spot; and ere another Sabbath 


dawned she was safely moored in the desired haven. Monday 
and Tuesday were spent in exploring tours ; and on Wednesday, 
the 20th, the settlement at Plymouth was commenced — twenty 
persons remaining ashore for the night. On the following Satur- 
day the first timber was felled ; on Monday their storehouse was 
commenced; on Thursday preparations were made for the erec- 
tion of a fort ; and allotments of land were made to the families ; 
and on the following Sunday religious worship was performed 
for the first time in their storehouse. 

For a month the colonists were busily employed. The dis- 
tance of the vessel — which lay more than a mile from the shore — 
was a great hinderance to their work ; frequent storms interrupted 
their operations ; and by accident their storehouse was destroyed 
by fire, and their hospital narrowly escaped destruction. The 
houses were arranged in two rows, on Leyden street, each man 
building his own. The storehouse was twenty feet square; the 
size of the private dwellings we have no means of determining. 
All were constructed of logs, with the interstices filled with sticks 
and clay; the roofs were covered with thatch; the chimneys 
were of fragments of wood, plastered with clay; and oiled paper 
served as a substitute for glass for the inlet of light. 

The whole of this first winter was a period of unprecedented 
hardship and suffering. Mild as was the weather, it was far 
more severe than that of the land of their birth ; and the disease 
contracted on shipboard, aggravated by colds caught in their 
wanderings in quest of a home, caused a great and distressing 
mortality to prevail. In December six died; in January, eight; 
in February, seventeen ; and in March, thirteen ; a total of forty- 
four in four months — of whom twenty-one were signers of the 
compact. It is remarkable that the leaders of the colony were 
spared. The survivors were unwearied in their attentions to 
their companions; but affection could not avert the arrows of 
the Destroyer. The first burial-place was on Cole's Hill; and as 
an affecting proof of the miserable condition of the sufferers it 
is said that, knowing they were surrounded by warlike savages, 
and fearing their losses might be discovered and advantage be 
taken of their weakness to attack and exterminate them, the sad 
mounds formed by rude coffins hidden beneath the earth were 
carefully levelled and sowed with grain! 

E., VOL. XL— 8. 


However rapidly we have sketched, in the preceding pages, 
the history of the Pilgrims from their settlement in Holland to 
their removal to America, no one can fail to have been deeply 
impressed with the inspiring lessons which that history teaches. 
As has been well said: " Their banishment to Holland was fort- 
unate; the decline of their little company in the strange land 
was fortunate; the difficulties which they experienced in getting 
the royal consent to banish themselves to this wilderness was 
fortunate; all the tears and heartbreakings of that ever-memora- 
ble parting at Delfthaven had the happiest influence on the rising 
destinies of New England. All this purified the rank of the 
settlers. These rough touches of fortune brushed off the light, 
uncertain, selfish spirits. They made it a grave, solemn, self- 
denying expedition, and required of those who were engaged in 
it to be so too." 

Touching also is the story of the "long, cold, dreary autum- 
nal passage" in that "one solitary, adventurous vessel, the May- 
flower, of a forlorn hope, freighted with the prospects of a future 
state and bound across the unknown sea." We behold it " pur- 
suing with a thousand misgivings the uncertain, the tedious 
voyage. Suns rise and set, and winter surprises them on the 
deep, but brings them not the sight of the wished-for shore. The 
awful voice of the storm howls through the rigging. The labor- 
ing masts seem straining from their base; the dismal sound of 
the pumps is heard ; tne ship leaps, as it were, madly from billow 
to billow ; the ocean breaks, and settles with engulfing floods over 
the floating deck, and beats with deadening, shivering weight 
against the staggering vessel." 

Escaped from these perils, after a passage of sixty-six days, 
and subsequent journeyings until the middle of December, they 
land on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth, worn out with suffering, 
weak and weary from the fatigues of the voyage, poorly armed, 
scantily provisioned, surrounded by barbarians, without prospect 
of human succor, without the help or favor of their king, with 
a useless patent, without assurance of liberty in religion, without 
shelter, and without means! 

Yet resolute men are there: Carver, Bradford, Brewster, 
Standish, Winslow, Alden, Warren, Hopkins, and others. Fe- 
male fortitude and resignation are there. Wives and mothers, 


with dauntless courage and unexampled heroism, have braved 
all these dangers, shared all these trials, borne all these sorrows, 
submitted to aii these privations. And there, too, is "chilled 
and shivering childhood, houseless but for a mother's arms, 
couchless but for a mother's breast." 

But these sepulchres of the dead ! — where He Turner, Chilton, 
Crackston, Fletcher, Goodman, Mullins, White, Rogers, Priest, 
Williams, and their companions — these touch the tenderest and 
holiest chords. Husbands and wives, parents and children, 
have finished their pilgrimage, and mingled their dust with the 
dust of New England. Hushed as the unbreathing air, when not 
a leaf stirs in the mighty forest, was the scene at those graves 
where the noble and true were buried in peace. Deeply as they 
sorrowed at parting with those, doubly endeared to them by the 
remembrance of what they had suffered together, and by the 
fellowship of kindred griefs, they committed them to the earth 
calmly, but with hope." No sculptured marble, no enduring 
monument, no honorable inscription, marks the spot where 
they were laid. Is it surprising that local attachments soon 
sprung up in the breasts of the survivors, endearing them to the 
place of refuge and their sorrows ? They had come " hither from 
a land to which they were never to return. Hither they had 
brought, and here they were to fix, their hopes and their affec- 
tions." Consecrated by persecutions in their native land, by an 
exile in Holland of hardship and toil, by the perils of the ocean 
voyage and its terrible storms, by their sufferings and wander- 
ings in quest of a home, and by the heartrending trials of the 
first lonely winter — by all these was their new home consecrated 
and hallowed in their inmost thoughts ; and forward to the future 
they looked with confidence in God and a cheerful reliance upon 
that beneficent Providence which had enabled them with patience 
to submit to his chastenings, and, Phcenix-like, to rise from the 
ashes of the dead and from the depths of the bitterest affliction 
and distress, with invincible courage, determined to subdue the 
wilderness before them, and to "fill this region of the great con- 
tinent, which stretches almost from pole to pole," with freedom 
and intelligence, the arts and the sciences, flourishing villages, 
temples of worship, and the numerous blessings of civilized life, 
baptized in the fountain of the Gospel of Christ. 



A.D. 1620 


Three centuries of modern thought have not sufficed to settle the dis- 
pute as to its own origin. Many Englishmen still claim insistently that 
Lord Bacon, in his Advance7nent of Learning, and still more positively in 
his later and greater work, the Novu?n Organum (1620) started modern 
scientific method. Present scientists themselves seem inclined to smile 
somewhat scornfully at the laurels thus placed on Bacon's brow. And 
as for Frenchmen, they simply refuse to hear the pompous Lord Chan- 
cellor mentioned at all. To them Rend Descartes is the only genuine 
originator of all modern philosophy. The publication of his Discourse 
on Method (1637) marks for them the epoch which separates two worlds 
of thought. 

Fortunately, George Henry Lewes, himself a celebrated English critic 
and the author of a system of philosophy, presents us the two rivals side 
by side, seeking to explain and balance the honors due to each. 

It is very certain that somewhere about this period did originate that 
mathematical exactitude of method in both thought and experiment which 
has produced modern science. And modern science has, in its brief but 
marvellous career of three centuries, altered the face of the globe. It 
has taught man more than ancient science did in all the preceding cen- 
turies ; it has touched even our deepest faiths. 

Whether its success has been due mainly to the abstract reasoners like 
Copernicus and the philosophers, or to the practical experimenters like 
Galileo and Harvey, is perhaps scarcely a practical question. 

T N the evolution of philosophy, as in the evolution of an organ- 
ism, it is impossible to fix with any precision a period of 
origin, because every beginning is also a termination, and pre- 
sumes the results of a whole series of preceding evolutions. As 
Mr. Spedding felicitously says, our philosophy "was born about 
Bacon's time, and Bacon's name, as the brightest which presided 
at the time of its birth, has been inscribed upon it : 



" Hesperus that led 
The starry host rode brightest." 

"Not that Hesperus did actually lead the other stars; he and 
they were moving under a common force, and they would have 
moved just as fast if he had been away; but because he shone 
brightest, he looked as if he led them." Bacon and Descartes 
are generally recognized as the "Fathers of Modern Philoso- 
phy," though they themselves were carried along by the rapidly 
swelling current of their age, then decisively setting in the direc- 
tion of science. It is their glory to have seen visions of the com- 
ing greatness, to have expressed in terms of splendid power the 
thoughts which were dimly stirring the age, and to have sanc- 
tioned the new movement by their authoritative genius. The 
destruction of scholasticism was complete. They came to direct 
the construction of a grander temple. 

There are in these two thinkers certain marked features of 
resemblance, and others equally marked of difference. We see 
their differences most strikingly in their descendants. From 
Bacon lineally descended Hobbes, Locke, Diderot, D'Alembert, 
Condillac, Cabanis, and our Scotch school. From Descartes 
descended Spinoza, Malebranche, Leibnitz, Fichte, Schelling, 
and Hegel. The inductive method predominated in one school, 
the deductive in the other. These differences we shall recog- 
nize more fully later on ; at present we may fix our minds on 
the two great points of resemblance: 1st, the decisive separation 
of philosophy from theology; 2d, the promulgation of a new 

The separation of philosophy from theology is made emphatic 
in the rejection of final causes by both Bacon and Descartes. 
Perhaps the most effective of their novelties was the effort of 
Descartes to explain the system of the world by matter and 
motion only, thus quietly setting aside all causes and metaphysi- 
cal entities which had hitherto been invoked. The hypothesis 
of vortices was indeed soon disclosed to be untenable; but the 
scientific attitude from which that hypothesis proceeded was 
never afterward relinquished. It was a bold attempt at the ap- 
plication of the objective method, and was only defective in its 
restriction to cosmology, and its exclusion of biology, which was 
still left to the subjective method, as I shall presently notice. 


The second point on which Bacon and Descartes resemble 
each other is in their conception of the results to be achieved by 
a totally new method. Coming as they did on the top of the 
revolutionary wave which had washed away the old methods, 
seeing as they saw the striking results of physical research, and 
foreseeing yet more glorious conquests from the spirit which 
achieved those results, they yielded themselves to the pleasant 
illusion that a new method would rapidly solve all problems. 
Bacon, as the more magnificent and imaginative mind, had 
grander visions and more enthusiastic faith ; but Descartes also 
firmly believed that the new method was to do wonders. Indeed, 
it is interesting to note how these great intellects seem quite un- 
conscious of their individual superiority, and are ready to sup- 
pose that their method will equalize all intellects. It reminds us 
of Sydney Smith maintaining that any man might be witty if he 
tried. Descartes affirms that "it is not so essential to have a 
fine understanding as to apply it rightly. Those who walk 
slowly make greater progress if they follow the right road than 
those who run swiftly on a wrong one." To the same effect 
Bacon: "A cripple on the right path will beat a racer on the 
wrong one." This is true enough, but is beside the question. 
Equipped with good or bad instruments, the superiority of one 
worker over another is always made manifest; and it is pre- 
cisely in the right use of a good method that the scientific genius 
is called upon for its delicate and patient skill. 

Into the vexed questions of Bacon's conduct, both with regard 
to Essex and with regard to bribery, I cannot enter here; but 
referring the curious to his biographers and critics, I will simply 
note that he was born in 1561 ; was educated at Trinity College, 
Cambridge, where he learned to distrust the Aristotelianism of 
his masters, and planned his own vast scheme of reform; went 
to Paris; sat in Parliament as member for Middlesex; was suc- 
cessively appointed of the Privy Council, and lord chancellor; 
was created Viscount Verulam ; was impeached and condemned 
for corruption as a judge; and died in the spring of 1626. "For 
my name and memory," said the dying man, "I leave it to men's 
charitable speeches, and to foreign nations, and the next age." 

Posterity has been generous; the fame of Bacon is immense. 
Admirers have not always been unanimous as to his special 


claims; but there has been no lack of enthusiasm, no question- 
ing of his genius. He has been lauded for achievements in 
which he had no part, and has been adorned with titles to which 
he had doubtful pretensions; while his most important services 
have been overlooked. But the general recognition of his great- 
ness, and our national pride in it, have not prevented certain 
attacks on his reputation, which have been answered in a rather 
angry spirit ; and thus from one cause and another there is great 
difficulty in arriving at any candid and thorough appreciation of 
the work he did. It seems to some persons that Bacon did very 
little in rising against the philosophy of his day, and pointing out 
a new path; and to others it seems that he did nothing of the 
kind. But whoever looks closely into the writings of Bacon's 
predecessors will see that what now seems obvious and trivial 
was then startling and important. As M. Remusat felicitously 
says, "II jallait du genie pour avoir ce bon sens" And to those 
who deny that Bacon did head the revolution, I would oppose not 
simply the testimony of nearly three centuries, but the testimony 
of Gassendi, who, both as contemporary and as foreigner, was 
capable of judging the effect then produced. It is indeed appar- 
ent to anyone familiar with the writings of some of Bacon's 
immediate predecessors, especially Galileo, that there was little 
novelty in his denunciations of the erroneous method then popu- 
lar, or in his exhortations to pursue observation, experiment, and 
induction. But it is not less apparent that he had wider and 
profounder views of the philosophy of method than any of them, 
and that the popular opinion does not err in attributing to him 
the glory of heading the new era. 

In England he is commonly regarded as the " Father of 
Experimental Philosophy " and the originator of the inductive 
method. Men profess themselves followers of the "Baconian 
philosophy," sometimes confounding that with a servile atten- 
tion to facts and a most unscientific scorn of theories; at other 
times implying that by the Baconian method is to be understood 
the one on which science has successfully been pursued. A 
rigorous investigation of Bacon's claims will disclose the truth 
of his own statement, that he was rather one who sounded the 
trumpet-call than one who marshalled the troops. He insisted 
on the importance of experiment, but he could not teach what 


he did not himself understand — the experimental method. He 
exhorted men to study nature; but he could not give available 
directions for that study. He had fervent faith in the possible 
conquests of sciexice ; but never having thoroughly mastered any 
one science, he was incapable of appreciating the real conditions 
of research. He saw clearly enough the great truth that the 
progress of research must be gradual, but he did not see what 
were the necessary grades, he did not see the kind of inqui- 
ries, and the order they must follow before discoveries could be 

That he had really but vague and imperfect conceptions of 
scientific method is decisively shown by his contemptuous rejec- 
tion of Copernicus, Galileo, and Gilbert, and by his own plan of 
investigation into heat. One sentence alone would suffice to 
show this, namely, his sneer at Copernicus as "aman who thinks 
nothing of introducing fictions of any kind into nature, provided 
his calculations turn out well." Bacon did not understand, what 
Copernicus profoundly saw, that the only value of an hypothesis 
was its reconciliation of calculations with observations. In his 
plan for an inquisition into the nature of heat, we see a total mis- 
conception of the scientific process; not only does he set about 
in a laboriously erroneous way, but he seeks that which science 
proclaims inaccessible, the nature of heat. It is true that he 
arrives at a hypothesis which bears some resemblance to the 
hypothesis now accepted, namely, that heat is a mode of motion 
— " an expansive and restrained motion, modified in certain ways, 
and exerted in the smaller particles of the body." But those who 
have been eager to credit him with an anticipation of modern 
views on the strength of this definition, have overlooked the fact 
that it is incapable of explaining a single process, includes none 
of the ascertained laws of phenomena, and is itself an example 
of the illicit generalization which Bacon elsewhere condemns. 
It was with some justification, therefore, that Harvey, who knew 
what science was, and knew better than most men how discover- 
ies were made, said of him that he wrote of science like a lord 

Indeed, it is to mistake his position and his greatness alto- 
gether to attribute his influence on philosophy, which is unde- 
niable, to an influence on science which is more than question- 


able. Bacon was a philosopher; but because with him philos- 
ophy, separating itself from the bondage of theology, claimed 
to ally itself with science, and sought its materials in the gener- 
alities of science, those writers who have never made a very 
accurate distinction between the two, but have confounded 
philosophy with metaphysics, and science with physics, have 
naturally regarded Bacon as the precursor of Newton, Laplace, 
Faraday, and Liebig. It is in vain that critics oppose such a 
claim by asserting what is undeniable, that the great discoveries 
in modern science were neither made on Bacon's method nor 
under any direct guidance from him — that Copernicus, Galileo, 
and Kepler preceded him, that Harvey and Newton ignored him 
— stanch admirers have their answer ready; they know that 
Bacon was the herald of the new era, and they believe that it was 
his trumpet-call which animated the troops and led them to 

Having thus indicated his position, it will be necessary to 
give a brief outline of the method which he confidently believed 
was to be infallible and applicable in all inquiries. This was 
imperatively needed : " for let a man look carefully into all that 
variety of books with which the arts and sciences abound, he 
will find everywhere endless repetitions of the same thing, vary- 
ing in the method of treatment, but not new in substance, inso- 
much that the whole stock, numerous as it appears at first view, 
proves on examination to be but scanty. What was asserted 
once is asserted still, and what was a question once is a question 
still, and, instead of being resolved by discussion, is only .fixed 
and fed." 

He proposes his new method, that thereby "the intellect may 
be raised and exalted and made capable of overcoming the diffi- 
culties and obscurities of nature. The art which I introduce with 
this view (which I call the 'Interpretation of Nature') is a kind 
of logic, though the difference between it and the ordinary logic 
is great, indeed immense. For the ordinary logic professes to 
contrive and prepare helps and guards for the understanding, as 
mine does; and in this one point they agree. But mine differs 
from it in three points: viz., in the end aimed at, in the order of 
demonstration, and in the starting-point of inquiry. 

" But the greatest change I introduce is in the form itself of 


induction and the judgments made thereby. For the induction of 
which the logicians speak, which proceeds by simple enumera- 
tion, is a puerile thing; concluded at hazard, is always liable to 
be upset by a contradictory instance, takes into account only 
what is known and ordinary, and leads to no result. Now, what 
the sciences stand in need of is a form of induction which shall 
analyze experience and take it to pieces, and by a due process of 
exclusion and rejection lead to an inevitable conclusion." 

"Now, my method, though hard to practise, is easy to ex- 
plain ; and it is this : I propose to establish progressive stages of 
certainty. The evidence of sense, helped and guarded by a cer- 
tain process of correction, I retain; but the mental operation 
which follows the act of sense I for the most part reject; and 
instead of it I open and lay out a new and certain path for the 
mind to proceed in, starting directly from the simple sensuous 

The same dissatisfaction with mediaeval philosophy ex- 
pressed itself in Descartes. The incompetence of philosophers 
to solve the problems they occupied themselves with — the an- 
archy which reigned in the scientific world, where no two thinkers 
could agree upon fundamental points — the extravagance of the 
conclusions to which some accepted premises led, determined 
him to seek no more to slake his thirst at their fountains. 

"And that is why, ar soon as my age permitted me to quit my 
preceptors," he says, "I entirely gave up the study of letters; 
and resolving to seek no other science than that which I could 
find in myself, or else in the great book of the world, I employed^ 
the remainder of my youth in travel, in seeing courts and camps, 
in frequenting people of diverse humors and conditions, in 
collecting various experiences, and above all in endeavoring to 
draw some profitable reflection from what I saw. For it seemed 
to me that I should meet with more truth in the reasonings which 
each man makes in his own affairs, and which, if wrong, would 
be speedily punished by failure, than in those reasonings which 
the philosopher makes in his study, upon speculations which pro- 
duce no effect, and which are of no consequence to him, except 
perhaps that he will be more vain of them the more remote they 
are from common-sense, because he would then have been forced 
to employ more ingenuity and subtlety to render them plausible." 


For many years he led a roving, unsettled life ; now serving 
in the army, now making a tour, now studying mathematics in 
solitude, now conversing with scientific men. One constant 
purpose gave unity to those various pursuits. He was elaborat- 
ing his answers to the questions which perplexed him; he was 
preparing his method. 

When only twenty- three he conceived the design of a reforma- 
tion in philosophy. He was at that time residing in his winter 
quarters at Neuburg, on the Danube. His travels soon after- 
ward commenced, and at the age of thirty-three he retired into 
Holland, there in silence and solitude to arrange his thoughts 
into a consistent whole. He remained there eight years ; and so 
completely did he shut himself from the world that he concealed 
from his friends the very place of his residence. 

When the results of this meditative solitude were given to the 
world in the shape of his celebrated Discourse on Method, and 
his Meditations — to which he invented replies — the sensation pro- 
duced was immense. It was evident to all men that an original 
thinker had arisen; and although this originality could not but 
rouse much opposition, from the very fact of being original, yet 
Descartes gained the day. His name became European. His 
controversies were European quarrels. Charlesvl of England 
invited him over, with the promise of a liberal appointment ; and 
the invitation would probably have been accepted had not the 
civil war broken out. He afterward received a flattering invi- 
tation from Christina of Sweden, who had read some of his works 
with great satisfaction, and wished to learn from himself the 
principles of his philosophy. 

He accepted it, and arrived in Stockholm in 1649. His 
reception was most gratifying, and the Queen was so pleased 
with him as earnestly to beg him to remain with her, and give 
his assistance toward the establishment of an academy of 
sciences. But the delicate frame of Descartes was ill fitted for 
the severity of the climate, and a cold, caught in one of his morn- 
ing visits to Christina, produced inflammation of the lungs, which 
carried him off. 

Christina wept for him, had him interred in the cemetery for 
foreigners, and placed a long eulogium upon his tomb. His 
remains were subsequently (1666) carried from Sweden into 


France, and buried with great ceremony in Ste. Genevieve du 

Descartes was a great thinker; but having said this, we have 
almost exhausted the praise we could bestow upon him as a man. 
In disposition he was timid to servility. When promulgating 
his proofs of the existence of the Deity, he was in evident alarm 
lest the Church should see something objectionable in them. He 
had also written an astronomical treatise; but hearing of the 
fate of Galileo, he refrained from publishing, and always used 
some chicane in speaking of the world's movement. He was 
not a brave man, nor was he an affectionate man. But he was 
even-tempered, placid, and studious not to give offence. 

It has already been indicated that the great work performed 
by Descartes was, like that of Bacon, the promulgation of a new 
method. This was rendered necessary by their separation from 
the ancient philosophy and their exclusion of authority. If in- 
quiry is to be independent, if reason is to walk alone, in what 
direction must she walk? Having relinquished the aid of the 
Church, there were but two courses open : the one to tread once 
more in the path of the ancients, and to endeavor by the ancient 
methods to attain the truth; or else to open a new path, to invent 
a new method. The former was barely possible. The spirit of 
the age was deeply imbued with a feeling of opposition against 
the ancient methods ; and Descartes himself had been painfully 
perplexed by the universal anarchy and uncertainty which pre- 
vailed. The second course was therefore chosen. 

Uncertainty was the disease of the epoch. Scepticism was 
widespread, and even the most confident dogmatism could offer 
no criterion of certitude. This want of criterion we saw leading, 
in Greece, to scepticism, Epicureanism, Stoicism, the New Acad- 
emy, and finally leading the Alexandrians into the province of 
faith, to escape from the dilemma. The question of a criterion 
had long been the vital question of philosophy. Descartes could 
get no answer to it from the doctors of his day. Unable to find 
firm ground on any of the prevalent systems, distracted by 
doubts, mistrusting the conclusions of his own understanding, 
mistrusting the evidences of his senses, he determined to make 
a tabula rasa, and reconstruct his knowledge. He resolved to 
examine the premises of every conclusion, and to believe nothing 


but upon the clearest evidence of reason; evidence so convinc- 
ing that he could not by any effort refuse to assent to it. 

He has given us the detailed history of his doubts. He has 
told us how he found that he could plausibly enough doubt of 
everything except of his own existence. He pushed his scep- 
ticism to the verge of self-annihilation. There he stopped; 
there in self, in his consciousness, he found at last an irresistible 
fact, an irreversible certainty. 

Firm ground was discovered. He could doubt the exist- 
ence of the external world, and treat it as a phantasm ; he could 
doubt the existence of a God, and treat the belief as a supersti- 
tion ; but of the existing of his thinking, doubting mind no sort of 
doubt was possible. He, the doubter, existed if nothing else 
existed. The existence that was revealed in his own conscious- 
ness was the primary fact, the first indubitable certainty. Hence 
his famous " Cogito, ergo sum " (" I think, therefore I am ")• 

It is somewhat curious, and, as an illustration of the frivolous 
verbal disputes of philosophers, not a little instructive, that this 
celebrated "Cogito, ergo sum," should have been frequently at- 
tacked for its logical imperfection. It has been objected, from 
Gassendi downward, that to say, "I think, therefore I am," is 
a begging of the question; since existence has to be proved 
identical with thought. Certainly, if Descartes had intended 
to prove his own existence by reasoning, he would have been 
guilty of the petitio principii Gassendi attributes to him, viz., 
that the major premise, "that which thinks exists," is assumed, 
not proved. But he did not intend this. What was his object ? 
He has told us that it was to find a starting-point from which to 
reason — to find an irreversible certainty. And where did he find 
this? In his own consciousness. Doubt as I may, I cannot 
doubt of my own existence, because my very doubt reveals to me 
a something which doubts. You may call this an assumption, 
if you will : I will point out the fact as one above and beyond all 
logic; which logic can neither prove nor disprove; but which 
must always remain an irreversible certainty, and as such a fitting 
basis of philosophy. 

I exist. No doubt can darken such a truth ; no sophism can 
confute this clear principle. This is a certainty, if there be none 
other. This is the basis of all science. It is in vain to ask for a 


proof of that which is self-evident and irresistible. I exist. The 
consciousness of my existence is to me the assurance of my exist- 

Had Descartes done no more than point out this fact he 
would have no claim to notice here ; and we are surprised to find 
many writers looking upon this "Cogito,ergo sum" as constitut- 
ing the great idea in his system. Surely it is only a statement of 
universal experience — an epigrammatic form given to the com- 
mon-sense view of the matter. Any clown would have told him 
that the assurance of his existence was his consciousness of it; 
but the clown would not have stated it so well. He would have 
said, "I know I exist, because I feel that I exist." 

Descartes therefore made no discovery in pointing out this 
fact as an irreversible certainty. The part it plays in his system 
is only that of a starting-point. It makes consciousness the 
basis of all truth. There is none other possible. Interrogate 
consciousness, and its clear replies will be science. Here we 
have a new basis and a new philosophy introduced. It was in- 
deed but another shape of the old formula, "Know thyself," so 
differently interpreted by Thales, Socrates, and the Alexandrians ; 
but it gave that formula a precise signification, a thing it had 
before always wanted. Of little use could it be to tell man 
to know himself. How is he to know himself? By looking 
inward ? We all do that. By examining the nature of his 
thoughts? That had been done without success. By examin- 
ing the process of his thoughts ? That, too, had been accom- 
plished, and the logic of Aristotle was the result. 

The formula needed a precise interpretation ; and that inter- 
pretation Descartes gave. Consciousness, said he, is the basis 
of all knowledge; it is the only ground of absolute certainty. 
Whatever it distinctly proclaims must be true. The process, 
then, is simple: examine your consciousness, and its clear re- 
plies. Hence the vital portion of his system lies in this axiom : All 
clear ideas are true : whatever is clearly and distinctly conceived 
is true. This axiom he calls the foundation of all science, the 
rule and measure of truth. 

The next step to be taken was to determine the rules for the 
proper detection of these ideas; and these rules he has laid down 
as follows : 


1. Never accept anything as true but what is evidently so; 
to admit nothing but what so clearly and distinctly presents itself 
as true that there can be no reason to doubt it. 

2. To divide every question into as many separate questions 
as possible ; that each part being more easily conceived, the whole 
may be more intelligible — (Analysis). 

3. To conduct the examination with order, beginning by that 
of objects the most simple, and therefore the easiest to be known, 
and ascending little by little up to knowledge of the most com- 
plex — (Synthesis) . 

4. To make such exact calculations and such circumspec- 
tions as to be confident that nothing essential has been omitted. 

Consciousness, being the ground of all certainty, everything 
of which you are clearly and distinctly conscious must be true; 
everything which you clearly and distinctively conceive exists, 
if the idea of it involves existence. 

In the four rules, and in this view of consciousness, we have 
only half of Descartes' system; the psychological half. It was 
owing to the exclusive consideration of this half that Dugald 
Stewart was led — in controverting Condorcet's assertion that 
Descartes had done more than either Galileo or Bacon toward 
experimental philosophy — to say that Condorcet would have been 
nearer the truth if he had pointed him out as the " Father of the 
Experimental Philosophy of the Mind." Perhaps the title is 
just; but Condorcet's praise, though exaggerated, was not with- 
out good foundation. 

There is, in truth, another half of Descartes' system, equally 
important, or nearly so : we mean the deductive method. His 
eminence as a mathematician is universally recognized. He 
was the first to make the grand discovery of the application 
of algebra to geometry; and he made this at the age of twenty- 
three. The discovery that geometrical curves might be expressed 
by algebraical numbers, though highly important in the history 
of mathematics, only interests us here by leading us to trace his 
philosophical development. He was deeply engrossed in mathe- 
matics; he saw that mathematics were capable of a still further 
simplification and a far more extended application. Struck as 
he was with the certitude of mathematical reasoning, he began 
applying the principles of mathematical reasoning to the subject 


of metaphysics. His great object was, amid the scepticism and 
anarchy of his contemporaries, to found a system which should 
be solid and convincing. He first wished to find a basis of certi- 
tude — a starting-point : this he found in consciousness. He next 
wished to find a method of certitude: this he found in mathe- 

"Those long chains of reasoning," he tells us, " all simple and 
easy, which geometers use to arrive at their most difficult demon- 
strations, suggested to me that all things which came within 
human knowledge must follow each other in a similar chain; and 
that provided we abstain from admitting anything as true which 
is not so, and that we always preserve in them the order neces- 
sary to deduce one from the other, there can be none so remote 
to which we cannot finally attain, nor so obscure but that we 
may discover them." From these glimpses of the twofold nature 
of Descartes' method, it will be easy to see into his whole system: 
consciousness being the 6nly ground of certitude, mathematics 
the only method of certitude. 

We may say therefore that the deductive method was now 
completely constituted. The whole operation of philosophy 
henceforth consisted in deducing consequences. The premises 
had been found; the conclusions alone were wanting. This was 
held to be true of physics no less than of psychology. Thus, in 
his Principia, he announces his intention of giving a short ac- 
count of the principal phenomena of the world, not that we may 
use them as reasons to prove anything; for he adds: "we desire 
to deduce effects from causes, not from effects ; but only in order 
that out of the innumerable effects which we learn to be capable 
of resulting from the same causes, we may determine our minds 
to consider these rather than others." 



A.D. 1627 


Through the work which Cardinal Richelieu, chief minister of Louis 
XIII, performed for that monarch and for France, the country was lifted 
from a state of comparative disorganization and weakness, and started 
on a fresh career, which led her to the foremost position among Euro- 
pean nations. 

At the death of Henry IV, in 1610, his son Louis XIII was but nine 
years old, and from 1624 to the end of the reign, in 1643, Richelieu directed 
the policy of France. By crushing the Huguenots as a political party he 
prepared the way for building up the power of the King. The Hugue- 
nots were aiming at an independent Protestant commonwealth within the 
kingdom. When Richelieu had defeated this project by his victory at 
La Rochelle he was iree to undertake a readjustment of the relations 
between the throne and the grasping nobles. After accomplishing this 
he could turn his attention to foreign affairs. 

In the last stage of the Thirty Years' War France under Richelieu 
played her part so well that the house of Austria was humbled, and, 
although the great Cardinal died before the end of the war, in the final 
settlement France received territorial and political benefits which greatly 
added to her prestige. 

White, our eminent historian, educator, and diplomatist, has given to 
the world, in the following narrative and analysis, the best account of 
Richelieu's administration to be found in English. 

H^HUS far the struggles of the world have developed its states- 
manship after three leading types. 

First of these is that based on faith in some great militant 
principle. Strong among statesmen of this type, in this time, 
stand Cavour, with his faith in constitutional liberty; Cobden, 
with his faith in freedom of trade; the third Napoleon, with his 
faith that the world moves, and that a successful policy must 
keep the world's pace. 

The second style of statesmanship is seen in the reorganiza- 
e., vol. xi. — 9. 129 


tion of old states to fit new times. In this the chiefs are such 
men as Cranmer and Turgot. 

But there is a third class of statesmen sometimes doing more 
brilliant work than either of the others. These are they who serve 
a state in times of chaos — in times when a nation is by no means 
ripe for revolution, but only stung by desperate revolt. These are 
they who are quick enough and firm enough to bind all the good 
forces of the state into one cosmic force, therewith to compress or 
crush all chaotic forces ; these are they who throttle treason and 
stab rebellion ; who fear not, when defeat must send down misery 
through ages, to insure victory by using weapons of the hottest 
and sharpest. Theirs, then, is a statesmanship which it may be 
well for the leading men of this land and time to be looking at 
and thinking of, and its representative man shall be Richelieu. 

Never perhaps did a nation plunge more suddenly from the 
height of prosperity into the depth of misery than did France on 
May 14, 16 10, when Henry IV fell dead by the dagger of Ra- 
vaillac. All earnest men, in a moment, saw the abyss yawning 
— felt the state sinking — felt themselves sinking with it. And 
they did what in such a time men always do : first all shrieked, 
then every man clutched at the means of safety nearest him. 
Sully, Henry's great minister, rode through the streets of Paris 
with big tears streaming down his face; strong men whose hearts 
had been toughened and crusted in the dreadful religious wars 
sobbed like children; all the populace swarmed abroad bewil- 
dered — many swooned — some went mad. This was the first 
phase of feeling. 

Then came a second phase yet more terrible. For now burst 
forth that old whirlwind of anarchy and bigotry and selfishness 
and terror which Henry had curbed during twenty years. All 
earnest men felt bound to protect themselves, and seized the 
nearest means of defence. Sully shut himself up in the Bastille, 
and sent orders to his son-in-law, the Duke of Rohan, to bring 
in six thousand soldiers to protect the Protestants. All unear- 
nest men, especially the great nobles, rushed to the court, deter- 
mined now, that the only guardians of the state were a weak- 
minded woman and a weak-bodied child, to dip deep into the 
treasury which Henry had filled to develop the nation, and to 
wrench away the power which he had built to guard the nation. 


In order to make ready for this grasp at the state treasure and 
power by the nobles, the Duke of Epernon — from the corpse of 
the King by whose side he was sitting when Ravaillac struck 
him — strides into the Parliament of Paris and orders it to de- 
clare the late Queen, Marie de' Medici, regent; and when this 
Parisian court, knowing full well that it had no right to confer 
the regency, hesitated, he laid his hand on his sword, and de- 
clared that, unless they did his bidding at once, his sword should 
be drawn from its scabbard. This threat did its work. Within 
three hours after the King's death the Paris Parliament, which 
had no right to give it, bestowed the regency on a woman who 
had no capacity to take it. 

At first things seemed to brighten a little. The Queen Regent 
sent such urgent messages to Sully that he left his stronghold of 
the Bastille and went to the palace. She declared to him before 
the assembled court that he must govern France still. With 
tears she gave the young King into his arms, telling Louis that 
Sully was his father's best friend, and bidding him pray the old 
statesman to serve the state yet longer. 

But soon this good scene changed. Mary had a foster-sister, 
Leonora Galligai, and Leonora was married to an Italian ad- 
venturer, Condni. These seemed a poor couple, worthless and 
shiftless, their only stock in trade Leonora's Italian cunning; but 
this stock soon came to be of vast account, for thereby she soon 
managed to bind and rule the Queen Regent — managed to drive 
Sully into retirement in less than a year — managed to make her- 
self and her husband the great dispensers at court of place and 
pelf. Penniless though Concini had been, he was in a few 
months able to buy the Marquisate of Ancre, which cost him 
nearly a half a million livres; and, soon after, the post of first 
gentleman of the bedchamber, and that cost him nearly a quar- 
ter of a million; and, soon after that, a multitude of broad es- 
tates and high offices at immense prices. Leonora also was not 
idle ; among her many gains was the bribe of three hundred thou- 
sand livres to screen certain financiers under trial for fraud. 

Next came the turn of the great nobles. For ages the nobility 
of France had been the worst among her many afflictions. From 
age to age attempts had been made to curb them. In the fifteenth 
century Charles VH had done much to undermine their power, 


and Louis XI had done much to crush it. But strong as was the 
policy of Charles, and cunning as was the policy of Louis, they 
had made one omission, and that omission left France, though 
advanced, miserable. For these monarchs had not cut the root 
of the evil. The French nobility continued practically a serf- 
holding nobility. 

Despite, then, the curb put upon many old pretensions of the 
nobles, the serf -owning spirit continued to spread a network of 
curses over every arm of the French government, over every 
acre of the French soil, and, worst of all, over the hearts and 
minds of the French people. Enterprise was deadened, inven- 
tion crippled. Honesty was nothing, honor everything. Life 
was of little value. Labor was the badge of servility; laziness 
the very badge and passport of gentility. The serf-owning spirit 
was an iron wall between noble and not noble — the only unyield- 
ing wall between France and prosperous peace. 

But the serf-owning spirit begat another evil far more terri- 
ble: it begat a substitute for patriotism — a substitute which 
crushed out patriotism just at the very emergencies when patri- 
otism was most needed. For the first question which in any state 
emergency sprang into the mind of a French noble was not, How 
does this affect the \velfare of the nation ? but, How does this 
affect the position of my order ? The serf-owning spirit developed 
in the French aristocracy an instinct which led them in national, 
troubles to guard the serf-owning class first and the nation af- 
terward, and to acknowledge fealty to the serf-owning interest 
first and to the national interest afterward. 

So it proved in that emergency at the death of Henry. In- 
stead of planting themselves as a firm bulwark between the state 
and harm, the Duke of Epernon, the Prince of Conde, the Count 
of Soissons, the Duke of Guise, the Duke of Bouillon, and many 
others, wheedled or threatened the Queen into granting pensions 
of such immense amounts that the great treasury filled by Henry 
and Sully with such noble sacrifices, and to such noble ends, was 
soon nearly empty. 

But as soon as the treasury began to run low the nobles began 
a worse work. Mary had thought to buy their loyalty, but when 
they had gained such treasures their ideas mounted higher. A 
saying of one among them became their formula, and became 


noted: "The day of kings is past; now is come the day of the 

Every great noble now tried to grasp some strong fortress or 
rich city. One fact will show the spirit of many. The Duke of 
fipernon had served Henry as governor of Metz, and Metz was 
the most important fortified town in France; therefore Henry, 
while allowing D'Epernon the honor of governorship, had always 
kept a royal lieutenant in the citadel, who corresponded directly 
with the ministry. But on the very day of the King's death 
D'Epernon despatched commands to his own creatures at Metz 
to seize the citadel, and to hold it for him against all other or- 

But at last even Mary had to refuse to lavish more of the na- 
tional treasure and to shred more of the national territory among 
these magnates. Then came their rebellion. 

Immediately Conde and several great nobles issued a procla- 
mation denouncing the tyranny and extravagance of the court — 
calling on the Catholics to rise against the Regent in behalf of 
their religion — calling on the Protestants to rise in behalf of 
theirs — summoning the whole people to rise against the waste 
of their state treasure. 

It was all a glorious joke. To call on the Protestants was 
wondrous impudence, for Conde had left their faith and had 
persecuted them. To call on the Catholics was not less impu- 
dent, for he had betrayed their cause scores of times ; but to call 
on the whole people to rise in defence of their treasury was im- 
pudence sublime, for no man had besieged the treasury more 
persistently, no man had dipped into it more deeply, than Conde" 

The people saw this and would not stir. Conde" could rally 
only a few great nobles and their retainers, and therefore, as a 
last tremendous blow to the court, he and his followers raised the 
cry that the Regent must convoke the States- General. 

Any who have read much in the history of France, and espe- 
cially in the history of the French Revolution, know in part how 
terrible this cry was. By the court, and by the great privileged 
classes of France, this great assembly of the three estates of the 
realm was looked upon as the last resort amid direst calamities. 
For at its summons came stalking forth from the foul past the 


long train of Titanic abuses and satanic wrongs ; and came surg- 
ing up from the seething present the great hoarse cry of the peo- 
ple ; then loomed up, dim in the distance, vast shadowy ideas of 
new truth and new right ; and at the bare hint of these, all that 
was proud in France trembled. 

This cry for the States- General, then, brought the Regent to 
terms at once, and, instead of acting vigorously, she betook her- 
self to her old vicious fashion of compromising — buying off the 
rebels at prices more enormous than ever. By her treaty of 
Ste. Menehould, Conde received a half a million of livres, and 
his followers received payments proportionate to the evil they 
had done. 

But this compromise succeeded no better than the previous 
compromises. Even if the nobles had wished to remain quiet, 
they could not. Their lordship over a servile class made them 
independent of all ordinary labor and all care arising from la- 
bor; some exercise of mind and body they must have; Conde* 
took this needed exercise by attempting to seize the city of Poi- 
tiers, and, when the burgesses were too strong for him, by rav- 
aging the neighboring country. The other nobles broke the 
compromise in ways wonderfully numerous and ingenious. 
France was again filled with misery. 

Dull as Regent Mary was, she now saw that she must call 
that dreaded States- General, or lose not only the nobles, but the 
people. Undecided as she was, she soon saw that she must do it 
at once ; that if she delayed it, her great nobles would raise the 
cry for it again and again just as often as they wished to extort 
office or money. Accordingly, on October 14, 1614, she sum- 
moned the deputies of the three estates to Paris, and then the 
storm set in. 

Each of the three orders presented its "portfolio of griev- 
ances" and its programme of reforms. It might seem, to one 
who has not noted closely the spirit which serf- mastering thrusts 
into a man, that the nobles would appear in the States- General, 
not to make complaints, but to answer complaints. It was not 
so. The noble order, with due form, entered complaint that 
theirs was the injured order. They asked relief from familiarities 
and assumptions of equality on the part of the people. Said the 
Baron de S6necce, " It is a great piece of insolence to pretend to 


establish any sort of equality between the people and the no- 
bility ": other nobles declared, " There is between them and us 
as much difference as between master and lackey." 

To match these complaints and theories, the nobles made 
demands; demands that commoners should not be allowed to 
keep firearms, nor to possess dogs unless the dogs were ham- 
strung; nor to clothe themselves like nobles, nor to clothe their 
wives like the wives of nobles ; nor to wear velvet or satin under 
a penalty of five thousand livres. And preposterous as such 
claims may seem to us, they carried them into practice. A dep- 
uty of the Third Estate having been severely beaten by a noble, 
his demands for redress were treated as absurd. One of the ora- 
tors of the lower order having spoken of the French as forming 
one great family in which the nobles were the elder brothers and 
the commoners the younger, the nobles made a formal complaint 
to the King, charging the Third Estate with insolence insufferable. 
Next came the complaints and demands of the clergy. They in- 
sisted on the adoption in France of the decrees of the Council 
of Trent, and the destruction of the liberties of the Gallican 

But far stronger than these came the voice of the people: 
first spoke Montaigne, denouncing the grasping spirit of the no- 
bles. Then spoke Savaron, stinging them with sarcasm, tor- 
turing them with rhetoric, crushing them with statements of 

But chief among the speakers was the president of the Third 
Estate, Robert Miron, provost of the merchants of Paris. His 
speech, though spoken across the great abyss of time and space 
and thought and custom which separates him from us, warms a 
true man's heart even now. With touching fidelity he pictured 
the sad life of the lower orders — their thankless toil, their con- 
stant misery; then with a sturdiness which awes us, he ar- 
raigned, first, royalty for its crushing taxation ; next, the whole 
upper class for its oppressions, and then, daring death, he thus 
launched into popular thought an idea : 

"It is nothing less than a miracle that the people are able to 
answer so many demands. On the labor of their hands depends 
the maintenance of your majesty, of the clergy, of the nobility, 
of the commons. What without their exertions would be the 


value of the tithes and great possessions of the Church, of the 
splendid estates of the nobility, or of our own house-rents and 
inheritances? With their bones scarcely skinned over, your 
wretched people present themselves before you, beaten down and 
helpless, with the aspect rather of death itself than of living men, 
imploring your succor in the name of Him who has appointed 
you to reign over them — who made you a man, that you might 
be merciful to other men — and who made you the father of your 
subjects, that you might be compassionate to these your helpless 
children. If your majesty shall not take means for that end, I 
fear lest despair should teach the sufferers that a soldier is, after 
all, nothing more than a peasant bearing arms; and lest, when 
the vine- dresser shall have taken up his arquebuse, he should 
cease to become an anvil only that he may become a hammer." 

After this the Third Estate demanded the convocation of a 
general assembly every ten years, a more just distribution of 
taxes, equality of all before the law, the suppression of interior 
custom-houses, the abolition of sundry sinecures held by nobles, 
the forbidding to leading nobles of unauthorized levies of sol- 
diery, some stipulations regarding the working clergy and the 
non-residence of bishops ; and in the midst of all these demands, 
as a gold grain amid husks, they placed a demand for the eman- 
cipation of the serfs. 

But these demands were sneered at. The idea of the natural 
equality in rights of all men — the idea of the personal worth of 
every man — the idea that rough-clad workers have prerogatives 
which can be whipped out by no smooth-clad idlers — these ideas 
were as far beyond serf-owners of those days as they were be- 
yond slave-owners of our own days. Nothing was done. Augus- 
tin Thierry is authority for the statement that the clergy were 
willing to yield something. The nobles would yield nothing. 
The different orders quarrelled until one March morning in 
1615, when, on going to their hall, they were barred out and told 
that the workmen were fitting the place for a court ball. And so 
the deputies separated — to all appearance no new work was done 
no new ideas enforced, no strong men set loose. 

So it was in seeming; so it was not in reality. Something had 
been done. That assembly planted ideas in the French mind 
which struck more and more deeply, and spread more and more 


widely, until, after a century and a half, the Third Estate met 
again and refused to present petitions kneeling; and when King 
and nobles put on their hats, the commons put on theirs, and 
when that old brilliant stroke was again made, and the hall was 
closed and filled with busy carpenters and upholsterers, the dep- 
uties of the people swore that great tennis-court oath which 
blasted French tyranny. 

But something great was done immediately. To that suffer- 
ing nation a great man was revealed ; for when the clergy pressed 
their requests they chose as their orator a young man only twenty- 
nine years of age, the Bishop of Lucon, Armand Jean du Plessis 
de Richelieu. 

He spoke well. His thoughts were clear, his words well 
pointed, his bearing firm. He had been bred a soldier, and so had 
strengthened his will; afterward he had been made a scholar and 
so had strengthened his mind. He grappled with the problems 
given him in that stormy assembly with such force that he seemed 
about to do something; but just then came that day of the court 
ball, and Richelieu turned away like the rest. 

But men had seen him and heard him. Forget him they 
could not. From that tremendous farce, then, France had gained 
directly one thing at least, and that was a sight of Richelieu. 

The year, after the States- General, wore away in the old vile 
fashion. Conde revolted again, and this time he managed to 
scare the Protestants into revolt with him. The daring of the 
nobles was greater than ever. They even attacked the young 
King's train as he journeyed to Bordeaux, and another compro- 
mise had to be wearily built in the Treaty of Loudun. By this 
Conde was again bought off — but this time only by a bribe of a 
million and a half of livres. The other nobles were also paid enor- 
mously, and on making a reckoning it was found that this com- 
promise had cost the King four millions and the country twenty 
millions. The nation had also to give into the hands of the no- 
bles some of its richest cities and strongest fortresses. 

Immediately after this compromise Conde returned to Paris, 
loud, strong, jubilant, defiant, bearing himself like a king. Soon 
he and his revolted again ; but just at that moment Concini hap- 
pened to remember Richelieu. The young bishop was called and 
set at work. 


Richelieu grasped the rebellion at once. In broad daylight 
he seized Conde and shut him up in the Bastille; other noble 
leaders he declared guilty of treason and degraded them ; he set 
forth the crimes and follies of the nobles in a manifesto which 
stung their cause to death in a moment ; he published his policy 
in a proclamation which ran through France like fire, warming 
all hearts of patriots, withering all hearts of rebels ; he sent out 
three great armies: one northward to grasp Picardy, one east- 
ward to grasp Champagne, one southward to grasp Berri. There 
is a man who can do something ! The nobles yield in a moment ; 
they must yield. 

But just at this moment, when a better day seemed to dawn, 
came an event which threw France back into anarchy and Riche- 
lieu into the world again. 

The young King, Louis XIII, was now sixteen years old. 
His mother the Regent and her favorite Concini had carefully 
kept him down. Under their treatment he had grown morose 
and seemingly stupid ; but he had wit enough to understand the 
policy of his mother and Concini, and strength enough to hate 
them for it. 

The only human being to whom Louis showed any love was 
a young falconer, Albert de Luynes, and with De Luynes he 
conspired against his mother's power and her favorite's life. On 
an April morning, 1617, the King and De Luynes sent a party 
of chosen men to seize Concini. They met him at the gate of the 
Louvre. As usual he is bird-like in his utterance, snake-like in 
his bearing. They order him to surrender; he chirps forth his 
surprise, and they blow out his brains. Louis, understanding 
the noise, puts on his sword, appears on the balcony of the pal- 
ace, is saluted with hurrahs, and becomes master of his king- 

Straightway measures are taken against all supposed to be 
attached to the regency. Concini 's wife, the favorite Leonora, 
is burned as a witch; Regent Mary is sent to Blois, and Riche- 
lieu is banished to his bishopric. 

And now matters went from bad to worse. King Louis was 
no stronger than Regent Mary had been; King's favorite, De 
Luynes, was no better than Regent's favorite, Concini, had been. 
The nobles rebelled against the new rule as they had rebelled 


against the old. The King went through the same old extor- 
tions and humiliations. 

Then came also to full development yet another vast evil. 
As far back as the year after Henry's assassination, the Protes- 
tants, in terror of their enemies, now that Henry was gone and the 
Spaniards seemed to grow in favor, formed themselves into a 
great republican league — a state within the state — regularly or- 
ganized; in peace, for political effort, and in war, for military 
effort, with a Protestant clerical caste which ruled always with 
pride, and often with menace. 

Against such a theocratic republic war must come sooner or 
later, and in 161 7 the struggle began. Army was pitted against 
army; Protestant Duke of Rohan against Catholic Duke of 
Luynes. Meanwhile Austria and the foreign enemies of France, 
Conde and the domestic enemies of France fished in the troubled 
waters, and made rich gains every day. So France plunged into 
sorrows ever deeper and blacker. But in 1624 Marie de' Me- 
dici, having been reconciled to her son, urged him to recall Riche- 

The dislike which Louis bore Richelieu was strong, but the 
dislike he bore toward compromises had become stronger. Into 
his poor brain at last began to gleam the truth that a serf-mas- 
tering caste, after a compromise, only whines more steadily and 
snarls more loudly; that at last, compromising becomes worse 
than fighting. Richelieu was called and set at work. 

Fortunately for our studies of the great statesman's policy, 
he left at his death a Political Testament, which floods with light 
his steadiest aims and boldest acts. In that Testament he wrote 
this message: 

"When your majesty resolved to give me entrance into your 
councils and a great share of your confidence, I can declare with 
truth that the Huguenots divided the authority with your maj- 
esty, that the great nobles acted not at all as subjects, that the 
governors of the provinces took on themselves the airs of sover- 
eigns, and that the foreign alliances of France were despised. 
I promised your majesty to use all my industry, all the authority 
you gave me, to ruin the Huguenot party, to abase the pride of 
the high nobles, and to raise your name among foreign nations 
to the place where it ought to be." 


Such were the plans of Richelieu at the outset. Let us see 
how he wrought out their fulfilment. 

First of all, he performed daring surgery and cautery about 
the very heart of the court. In a short time he had cut out from 
that living centre of French power a number of unworthy ministers 
and favorites, and replaced them by men on whom he could rely. 
Then he began his vast work. His policy embraced three great 
objects: First, the overthrow of the Huguenot power; secondly, 
the subjugation of the great nobles; thirdly, the destruction of 
the undue might of Austria. 

First, then, after some preliminary negotiations with foreign 
powers, he attacked the great politico-religious party of the Hu- 
guenots. These held, as their great centre and stronghold, the 
famous seaport of La Rochelle. He who but glances at the map 
shall see how strong was this position; he shall see two islands 
lying just off the west coast at that point, controlled by La Ro- 
chelle, yet affording to any foreign allies, whom the Huguenots 
might admit there, facilities for stinging France during centuries. 
The position of the Huguenots seemed impregnable. The city 
was well fortressed, garrisoned by the bravest of men, mistress 
of a noble harbor open at all times to supplies from foreign ports, 
and in that harbor rode a fleet, belonging to the city, greater than 
the navy of France. Richelieu saw well that here was the head 
of the rebellion. Here, then, he must strike it. 

Strange as it may seem, his diplomacy was so skilful that he 
obtained ships to attack the Protestants in La Rochelle from the 
two great Protestant powers — England and Holland. With 
these he was successful. He attacked the city fleet, ruined it, 
and cleared the harbor. 

But now came a terrible check. Richelieu had aroused the 
hate of that incarnation of all that was and is offensive in Eng- 
lish politics — the Duke of Buckingham. Scandal- mongers were 
wont to say that both were in love with the Queen, and that the 
Cardinal, though unsuccessful in his suit, outwitted the Duke 
and sent him out of the kingdom; and that the Duke swore a 
great oath that if he could not enter France in one way, he would 
enter in another; and that he brought about a war and came 
himself as a commander. Of this scandal believe what you 
will, but — be the causes what they may — the English policy 


changed, and Charles I sent Buckingham with ninety ships to 
aid La Rochelle. 

But Buckingham was flippant and careless; Richelieu care- 
ful when there was need, and daring when there was need. Buck- 
ingham's heavy blows were foiled by Richelieu's keen thrusts, 
and then, in his confusion, Buckingham blundered so foolishly 
and Richelieu profited by his blunders so shrewdly that the fleet 
returned to England without any accomplishment of its purpose. 
The English were also driven from that vexing position in the 
Isle of Re. 

Having thus sent the English home, for a time at least, he led 
King and nobles and armies to La Rochelle, and commenced 
the siege in full force. Difficulties met him at every turn; but 
the difficulty of all was that arising from the spirit of the no- 

No one could charge the nobles of France with lack of bra- 
very. The only charge was that their bravery was almost sure 
to shun every useful form, and to take every noxious form. The 
bravery which finds outlet in duels they showed constantly; the 
bravery which finds outlets in street fights they had shown from 
the day when the Duke of Orleans perished in a brawl, to the 
days when the "Mignons" of Henry III fought at sight every 
noble whose beard was not cut to suit them. The pride fostered 
by lording it over serfs, in the country, and by lording it over men 
who did not own serfs, in the capital, aroused bravery of this sort 
and plenty of it. But that bravery which serves a great good cause, 
which must be backed by steadiness and watchfulness, was not 
so plentiful. So Richelieu found that the nobles who had con- 
ducted the siege before he took command had, through their 
brawling propensities and lazy propensities, allowed the be- 
sieged to garner in the crops from the surrounding country, and 
master all the best points of attack. 

But Richelieu pressed on. First he built an immense wall 
and earthwork, nine miles long, surrounding the city, and to pro- 
tect this he raised eleven great forts and eighteen redoubts. Still 
the harbor was open, and into this the English fleet might return 
and succor the city at any time. His plan was soon made. In 
the midst of that great harbor of La Rochelle he sank sixty hulks 
of vessels filled with stone; then, across the harbor — nearly a 


mile wide and, in places, more than eight hundred feet deep — 
he began building over these sunken ships a great dike and wall; 
thoroughly fortified, carefully engineered, faced with sloping lay- 
ers of hewn stone. 

His own men scolded at the magnitude of the work; the men 
in La Rochelle laughed at it. Worse than that, the ocean some- 
times laughed and scolded at it. Sometimes the waves, sweeping 
in from that fierce Bay of Biscay, destroyed in an hour the work 
of a week. The carelessness of a subordinate once destroyed in a 
moment the work of three months. 

Yet it is but fair to admit that there was one storm which did 
not beat against Richelieu's dike. There set in against it no 
storm of hypocrisy from neighboring nations. Keen works for 
and against Richelieu were put forth in his day : works calm and 
strong for and against him have been issuing from the presses of 
France and England and Germany ever since; but not one of 
the old school of keen writers, or of the new school of calm writ- 
ers, is known to have ever hinted that this complete sealing of 
the only entrance to a leading European harbor was unjust to 
the world at large or unfair to the besieged themselves. 

But all other obstacles Richelieu had to break through or cut 
through constantly. He was his own engineer, general, admiral, 
prime minister. While he urged on the army to work upon 
the dike, he organized a French navy, and in due time brought 
it around to that coast and anchored it so as to guard the dike 
and to be guarded by it. Yet daring as all this work was, it was 
but the smallest part of his work. Richelieu found that his offi- 
cers were cheating his soldiers in their pay and disheartening 
them; in the face of the enemy he had to reorganize the army 
and to create a new military system. He made the army twice as 
effective and supported it at two-thirds less cost than before. It 
was his boast in his Testament that, from a mob, the army be- 
came "like a well-ordered convent." 

He found also that his subordinates were plundering the sur- 
rounding country, and thus rendering it disaffected ; he at once 
ordered that what had been taken should be paid for, and that 
persons trespassing thereafter should be severely punished. He 
found also the great nobles who commanded in the army half- 
hearted and almost traitorous from sympathy with those of their 


own caste on the other side of the walls of La Rochelle, and from 
their fear of his increased power should he gain a victory. It was 
their common saying that they were fools to help him do it. But 
he saw the true point at once. He placed in the most responsible 
positions of his army men who felt for their cause, whose hearts 
and souls were in it — men not of the Dalgetty stamp, but of the 
Cromwell stamp. He found also — as he afterward said — that he 
had to conquer not only the kings of England and Spain, but also 
the King of France. At the most critical moment of the siege 
Louis defeated him, went back to Paris, allowed courtiers to fill 
him with suspicions. Not only Richelieu's place, but his life, was 
in danger, and he well knew it; yet he never left his dike and 
siege- works, but wrought on steadily until they were done; and 
then the King, of his own will, in very shame broke away from 
his courtiers and went back to his master. 

And now a royal herald summoned the people of La Ro- 
chelle to surrender. But they were not yet half conquered. 
Even when they had seen two English fleets, sent to aid them, 
driven back from Richelieu's dike, they still held out manfully. 
The Duchess of Rohan, the Mayor Guiton, and the minister 
Salbert, by noble sacrifices and burning words, kept the will of 
the besieged firm as steel. They were reduced to feed on their 
horses; then on bits of filthy shellfish; then on stewed leather. 
They died in multitudes. 

Guiton, the mayor, kept a dagger on the city council- table to 
stab any man who should speak of surrender; some, who spoke of 
yielding, he ordered to execution as seditious. When a friend 
showed him a person dying of hunger, he said: "Does that as- 
tonish you ? Both you and I must come to that ! " When another 
told him that multitudes were perishing he said, "Provided one 
remains to hold the city gate, I ask nothing more." 

But at last even Guiton had to yield. After the siege had 
lasted more than a year, after five thousand were found remain- 
ing out of fifteen thousand, after a mother had been seen to feed 
her child with her own blood, the Cardinal's policy became too 
strong for him. The people yielded and Richelieu entered the 
city as master. 

And now the victorious statesman showed a greatness of soul 
to which all the rest of his life was as nothing. He was a Catho- 


lie cardinal; the Rochellois were Protestants; he was a stern 
ruler; they were rebellious subjects who had long worried and 
almost impoverished him; all Europe, therefore, looked for a 
retribution more terrible than any in history. 

Richelieu allowed nothing of the sort. He destroyed the old 
franchises of the city, for they were incompatible with that royal 
authority which he so earnestly strove to build. But this was all. 
He took no vengeance ; he allowed the Protestants to worship as 
before; he took many of them into the public service, and to 
Guiton he showed marks of respect. He stretched forth that 
strong arm of his over the city and warded off all harm. He 
kept back greedy soldiers from pillage; he kept back bigot 
priests from persecution. 

Years before this he had said, "The diversity of religions 
may indeed create a division in the other world, but not in this." 
At another time he wrote, "Violent remedies only aggravate 
spiritual diseases." And he was now so tested that these ex- 
pressions were found to embody not merely an idea, but a belief. 
For when the Protestants in La Rochelle, though thus owing 
tolerance — and evon existence — to a Catholic, vexed Catholics 
in a spirit most intolerant, even that could not force him to 
abridge the religious liberties he had given. 

He saw beyond his time, not only beyond Catholics, but be- 
yond Protestants. Two years after that great example of tolera- 
tion in La Rochelle, Nicholas Antoine was executed for apostasy 
from Calvinism at Geneva. And for his leniency Richelieu re- 
ceived the titles of "Pope of the Protestants" and "Patriarch of 
the Atheists." But he had gained the first great object of his 
policy, and he would not abuse it : he had crushed the political 
power of the Huguenots forever. 

Let us turn now to the second great object of his policy. He 
must break the power of the nobility: on that condition alone 
could France have strength and order, and here he showed his 
daring at the outset. "It is iniquitous," he was wont to tell the 
King, "to try to make an example by punishing the lesser offend- 
ers; they are but trees which cast no shade: it is the great no- 
bles who must be disciplined." 

It was not long before he had to begin this work—and with 
the highest — with no less a personage than Gaston, Duke of Or- 


leans, favorite son of Mary, brother of the King. He who thinks 
shall come to a higher idea of Richelieu's boldness when he re- 
members that for many years after this Louis was childless and 
sickly, and that during all those years Richelieu might awake 
any morning to find Gaston — king. 

In 1626 Gaston, with the Duke of Vend6me, half-brother of 
the King, the Duchess of Chevreuse, confidential friend of the 
Queen, the Count of Chalais, and the Marshal Ornano, formed 
a conspiracy after the old fashion. Richelieu had his hand at 
their lofty throats in a moment. Gaston, who was used only as 
a makeweight, he forced into the most humble apology and the 
most binding pledges; Ornano he sent to die in the Bastille; 
the Duke of Vendome and the Duchess of Chevreuse he ban- 
ished ; Chalais he sent to the scaffold. 

The next year he gave the grandees another lesson. The 
serf -owning spirit had fostered in France, through many years, 
a rage for duelling. Richelieu determined that this should stop. 
He gave notice that the law against duelling was revived, and 
that he would enforce it. It was soon broken by two of the lof- 
tiest nobles in France — by the Count of Bouteville Montmorency 
and the Count des Chapelles. They laughed at the law: they 
fought defiantly in broad daylight. Nobody dreamed that the 
law would be carried out against them. The Cardinal would, 
they thought, deal with them as rulers have dealt with serf-mas- 
tering lawbreakers from those days to these — invent some quib- 
ble and screen them with it. But his method was sharper and 
shorter. He seized both, and executed both on the Place de la 
Greve — the place of execution for the vilest malefactors. 

No doubt that under the present domineering of the petti- 
fogger caste there are hosts of men whose minds run in such 
small old grooves that they hold legal forms not a means, but an 
end; these will cry out against this proceeding as tyrannical. 
No doubt, too, that under the present palaver of the "sensation- 
ist " caste, the old ladies of both sexes have come to regard crime 
as mere misfortune: these will lament this proceeding as cruel. 
But for this act, if for no other, an earnest man's heart ought in 
these times to warm toward the great statesman. The man had 
a spine. To his mind crime was not mere misfortune: crime 
was crime. 

E., VOL. XI.— IO. 


Crime was strong; it would pay him well to screen it: it 
might cost him dear to fight it. But he was not a modern 
"smart" lawyer to seek popularity by screening criminals; nor 
a modern soft juryman, to suffer his eyes to be blinded by quirks 
and quibbles to the great purposes of law; nor a modern bland 
governor, who lets a murderer loose out of politeness to the mur- 
derer's mistress. He hated crime ; he whipped the criminal; no 
petty forms and no petty men of forms could stand between him 
and a rascal. He had the sense to see that this course was not 
cruel, but merciful. In the eighteen years before Richelieu's ad- 
ministration, four thousand men perished in duels; in the ten 
years after Richelieu's death nearly a thousand thus perished; 
but during his whole administration, duelling was checked com- 
pletely. Which policy was tyrannical ? Which policy was cruel ? 

The hatred of the serf-mastering caste toward their new ruler 
grew blacker and blacker, but he never flinched. The two broth- 
ers Marillac, proud of birth, high in office, endeavored to stir re- 
volt as in their good days of old. The first, who was keeper of 
the seals, Richelieu threw into prison; with the second, who 
was a marshal )f France, Richelieu took another course. For 
this marshal had added to revolt things more vile and more in- 
sidiously hurtful: he had defrauded the government in army 
contracts. Richelieu tore him from his army and put him on trial. 
The Queen-Mother, whose pet he was, insisted on his libera- 
tion. Marillac himself blubbered that it "was all about a little 
straw and hay, a matter for which a master would not whip a 
lackey." Marshal Marillac was executed. So, when statesmen 
rule, fare all who take advantage of the agonies of a nation to 
pilfer a nation's treasure. 

To crown all, the Queen-Mother began now to plot against 
Richelieu because he would not be her puppet, and he banished 
her from France forever. 

The high nobles were now exasperated. Gaston fled the 
country, first issuing against Richelieu a threatening manifesto. 
Now awoke the Duke of Montmorency. By birth he stood next 
the King's family: by office, as constable of France, he stood 
next the King himself. Montmorency was defeated and taken. 
The nobles supplicated for him lustily : they looked on crimes of 
nobles resulting in deaths of plebeians as lightly as the English 


House of Lords afterward looked on Lord Mohun's murder of 
Will Mountfort, or as another body of lords looked on Matt 
Ward's murder of Professor Butler: but Montmorency was exe- 
cuted. Says Richelieu in his Memoirs, "Many murmured at 
this act, and called it severe; but others, more wise, praised the 
justice of the King, who preferred the good of the state to the 
vain reputation of a hurtful clemency." 

Nor did the great minister grow indolent as he grew old. The 
Duke of fipernon, who seems to have had more direct power of 
the old feudal sort than any other man in France, and who had 
been so turbulent under the regency, him Richelieu humbled 
completely. The Duke of Valette disobeyed orders in the army, 
and was executed as a common soldier would have been for the 
same offence. The Count of Soissons tried to see if he could not 
revive the good old turbulent times, and raised a rebel army ; but 
Richelieu hunted him down like a wild beast. Then certain 
court nobles — pets of the King — Cinq-Mars and De Thou, wove 
a new plot, and, to strengthen it, made a secret treaty with 
Spain; but the Cardinal, though dying, obtained a copy of the 
treaty, through his agent, and the traitors expiated their treason 
with their blood. 

But this was not all. The Parliament of Paris — a court of 
justice — filled with the idea that law is not a means, but an end, 
tried to interpose forms between the master of France and the 
vermin he was exterminating. That Parisian court might, years 
before, have done something. They might have insisted that 
the petty quibbles set forth by the lawyers of Paris should not 
defeat the eternal laws of retribution set forth by the Lawgiver 
of the Universe. That they had not done, and the time for legal 
forms had gone by. The Paris Parliament would not see this, 
and Richelieu crushed the Parliament. Then the court of aids 
refused to grant supplies, and he crushed that court. In all this 
the nation upheld him. Woe to the courts of a nation when they 
have forced the great body of plain men to regard legality as in- 
justice! Woe to the councils of a nation when they have forced 
the great body of plain men to regard legislation as traffic ! Woe 
thrice repeated to gentlemen of small pettifogging sort when 
they have brought such times, and God has brought a man to fit 


There was now in France no man who could stand against 
the statesman's purpose. And so, having hewn through all that 
anarchy and bigotry and selfishness a way for the people, he 
called them to the work. In 1626 he summoned an assembly to 
carry out reforms. It was essentially a people's assembly. That 
anarchical States- General, domineered by great nobles, he would 
not call; but he called an " Assembly of Notables." In this was 
not one prince or duke, and two-thirds of the members came di- 
rectly from the people. Into this body he thrust some of his own 
energy. Measures were taken for the creation of a navy. An 
idea was now carried into effect which many suppose to have 
sprung from the French Revolution; for the army was made 
more effective by opening its high grades to the commons. 

A reform was also made in taxation, and shrewd measures 
were taken to spread commerce and industry by calling the no- 
bility into them. 

Thus did France, under his guidance, secure order and prog- 
ress. Calmly he destroyed all the useless feudal castles which 
had so long overawed the people and defied the monarchy. He 
abolished also the military titles of grand admiral and high con- 
stable, which had hitherto given the army and navy into the 
hands of leading noble families. He destroyed some troublesome 
remnants of feudal courts, and created royal courts ; in one year, 
that of Poitiers alone, punished for exactions and violence 
against the people, more than two hundred nobles. Greatest 
step of all, he deposed the hereditary noble governors, and placed 
in their stead governors taken from the people — "Intendants " — 
responsible to the central authority alone. 

We are brought now to the third great object of Richelieu's 
policy. He saw from the beginning that Austria and her satel- 
lite Spain must be humbled if France was to take her rightful 
place in Europe. 

Hardly, then, had he entered the council, when he negotiated 
a marriage of the King's sister with the son of James I of Eng- 
land; next he signed an alliance with Holland; next he sent ten 
thousand soldiers to drive the troops of the Pope and Spain out 
of the Valtelline district of the Alps, and thus secured an alliance 
with the Swiss. We are to note here that fact, which Buckle 
wields so well, that, though Richelieu was a cardinal of the Ro- 


man Church, all these alliances were with Protestant powers 
against Catholics. Austria and Spain intrigued against him, 
sowing money in the mountain districts of South France which 
brought forth those crops of armed men who defended La Ro- 
chelle. But he beat them at their own game. He set loose Count 
Mansfeld, who revived the Thirty Years* War by raising a re- 
bellion in Bohemia; and when one great man, Wallenstein, 
stood between Austria and ruin, Richelieu sent his monkish dip- 
lomatist, Father Joseph, to the German Assembly of Electors, 
and persuaded them to dismiss Wallenstein and to disgrace 

But the great Frenchman's masterstroke was his treaty with 
Gustavus Adolphus. With that keen glance of his he saw and 
knew Gustavus while yet the world knew him not — while he 
was battling afar off in the wilds of Poland. Richelieu's plan 
was formed at once. He brought about a treaty between Gusta- 
vus and Poland; then he filled Gustavus' mind with pictures 
of the wrongs inflicted by Austria on German Protestants, hinted 
to him probably of a new realm, filled his treasury, and finally 
hurled against Austria the man who destroyed Tilly, who con- 
quered Wallenstein, who annihilated Austrian supremacy at the 
battle of Lutzen, who, though in his grave, wrenched Protestant 
rights from Austria at the treaty of Westphalia, who pierced the 
Austrian monarchy with the most terrible sorrows it ever saw 
before the time of Napoleon. 

To the main objects of Richelieu's policy already given, 
might be added two subordinate subjects. The first of these was 
a healthful extension of French territory. In this Richelieu 
planned better than the first Napoleon; for while he did much 
to carry France out to her natural boundaries, he kept her always 
within them. On the south he added Roussillon, on the east 
Alsace, on the northeast Artois. 

The second subordinate object of his policy sometimes 
flashed forth brilliantly. He was determined that England 
should never again interfere on French soil. We have seen him 
driving the English from La Rochelle and from the Isle of Re; 
but he went further. In 1628, on making some proposals to 
England, he was repulsed with English haughtiness. "They 
shall know," said the Cardinal, "that they cannot despise me." 


Straightway one sees protests and revolts of the Presbyterians of 
Scotland and Richelieu's agents in the thickest of them. And 
now what was Richelieu's statesmanship in its sum ? 

i. In the political progress of France his work has already 
been sketched as building monarchy and breaking anarchy. 
Therefore have men said that he swept away old French liber- 
ties. What old liberties ? Richelieu but tore away the decaying, 
poisonous husks and rinds which hindered French liberties from 
their chance of life and growth. Therefore also have men said 
that Richelieu built up absolutism. The charge is true and wel- 
come. For evidently absolutism was the only force in that age 
which could destroy the serf-mastering caste. Many a Polish pa- 
triot, as he to-day wanders through the Polish villages, groans 
that absolutism was not built to crush that serf-owning aristocracy 
which has been the real architect of Poland's ruin. Anyone who 
reads to much purpose in De Mably, or Guizot, or Henri Martin 
knows that this part of Richelieu's statesmanship was but a mas- 
terful continuation of all great French statesmanship since the 
twelfth century league of the king and commons, against nobles, 
and that Richelieu stood in the heirship of all great French 
statesmen since Suger. That part of Richelieu's work, then, 
was evidently bedded in the great line of divine purpose running 
through that age and through all ages. 

2. In the internal development of France, Richelieu proved 
himself a true builder. The founding of the French Academy 
and of the Jardin des Plantes,the building of the College of Pies- 
sis, and the rebuilding of the college of the Sorbonne, are among 
the monuments of this part- statesmanship. His, also, is much 
of that praise usually lavished on Louis XIV for the career 
opened in the seventeenth century to science, literature, and art. 
He was also a reformer, and his zeal was proved, when in the 
fiercest of the La Rochelle struggle he found time to institute 
great reforms not only in the army and navy, but even in the 

3. On the general progress of Europe, his work must be 
judged as mainly for good. Austria was the chief barrier to Eu- 
ropean progress, and that barrier he broke. But a far greater 
impulse to the general progress of Europe was given by the idea 
of toleration which he thrust into the methods of European states- 


men. He, first of all statesmen in France, saw that in French 
policy — to use his own words — "A Protestant Frenchman is 
better than a Catholic Spaniard"; and he, first of all statesmen 
in Europe, saw that, in European policy, patriotism must out- 
weigh bigotry. 

4. His faults in method were many. His underestimate of 
the sacredness of human life was one ; but that was the fault of 
his age. His frequent workings by intrigue was another; but 
that also was a vile method accepted by his age. The fair ques- 
tions, then, are: did he not commit the fewest and smallest 
wrongs possible in beating back those many and great wrongs ? 
Wrong has often a quick, spasmodic force, but was there not in 
his arm a steady growing force, which could only be a force of 

5. His faults in policy crystallized about one; for while he 
subdued the serf-mastering nobility, he struck no final blow at 
the serf system itself. 

Our running readers of French history need here a word of 
caution. They follow De Tocqueville, and De Tocqueville fol- 
lows Biot in speaking of the serf system as abolished in most of 
France hundreds of years before this. But Biot and De Tocque- 
ville take for granted a knowledge in their readers that the essen- 
tial vileness of the system, and even many of its most shocking 
outward features, remained. Richelieu might have crushed the 
serf system, really, as easily as Louis X and Philip the Long had 
crushed it nominally. This Richelieu did not. 

And the consequences of this great man's fault were terrible. 
Hardly was he in his grave when the nobles perverted the effort 
of the Paris Parliament for advance in liberty and took the lead 
in the fearful revolts and massacres of the Fronde. Then came 
Richelieu's pupil, Mazarin, who tricked the nobles into order; 
and Mazarin's pupil, Louis XIV, who bribed them into order. 
But a nobility borne on high by the labor of a servile class must 
despise labor; so there came those weary years of indolent gam- 
bling and debauchery and " serf-eating " at Versailles. 

Then came Louis XV, who was too feeble to maintain even 
the poor decent restraint imposed by Louis XIV; so the serf- 
mastering caste became active in a new way, and their leaders 
in vileness unutterable became at last Fronsac and De Sade. 


Then came "the deluge." The spirit of the serf-mastering 
caste, as left by Richelieu, was a main cause of the miseries 
which brought on the French Revolution. When the Third Estate 
brought up their "portfolio of grievances, " for one complaint 
against the exactions of the monarchy there were fifty com- 
plaints against the exactions of the nobility. 

Then came the failure of the Revolution in its direct purpose ; 
and of this failure the serf-mastering caste was a main cause. 
For this caste, hardened by ages of domineering over a servile 
class, despite 4th of August renunciations, would not, could not, 
accept a position compatible with freedom and order; so earn- 
est men were maddened, and sought to tear out this cancerous 
mass, with all its burning roots. 

But for Richelieu's great fault there is an excuse. His mind 
was saturated with ideas of the impossibility of inducing freed 
peasants to work; the impossibility of making them citizens; 
the impossibility, in short, of making them men. To his view 
was not unrolled the rich newer world history, to show that a work- 
ing class is most dangerous when restricted; that oppression is 
more dangerous to the oppressor than to the oppressed; that if 
man will hew out paths to liberty, God will hew out paths to 
prosperity. But Richelieu's fault teaches the world not less than 
his virtues. 

At last on December 3, 1642, the great statesman lay upon 
his death-bed. The death- hour is a great revealer of motives, 
and, as with weaker men, so with Richelieu. Light then shot 
over the secret of his whole life's plan and work. He was told 
that he must die : he received the words with calmness. As the 
host, which he believed the veritable body of the Crucified, 
was brought him, he said: "Behold my Judge before whom I 
must shortly appear! I pray him to condemn me if I have ever 
had any other motive than the cause of religion and my country." 
The confessor asked him if he pardoned his enemies: he an- 
swered, "I have none but those of the state." 

So passed from earth this strong man. Keen he was in sight, 
steady in aim, strong in act. A true man, not "non-committal," 
but wedded to a great policy in the sight of all men; seen by 
earnest men, of all times, to have marshalled against riot and 
bigotry and unreason, divine forces and purposes. 




A.D. 1630 


Whatever might have been the historic development of New England 
had it proceeded from the single plantation at Plymouth, it is certain 
that the growth and character of the new community were vitally affected 
by the large influx of English Puritans who ten years later followed the 
Pilgrims to these shores. 

Soon after the departure of the Pilgrims from England, in 1620, King 
James I incorporated a successor to that Plymouth Company under 
whose patent Plymouth colony was founded. This new company is 
known as the Council for New England. The territory granted to the 
council extended from 40 to 48° north latitude, and from the Atlantic to 
the Pacific. The land was conferred in absolute property, with unlimited 
powers of legislation and government. Emigrants to New England were 
placed wholly under the authority of this corporation. The great privi- 
leges conferred upon the monopoly caused indignation among James' 
subjects, but nevertheless the council made numerous grants to settlers 
in New England. 

Meanwhile, dissatisfaction in England increased; in 1625 James was 
succeeded by his son, Charles I ; at Plymouth the Pilgrim colony was 
struggling for existence; at home the Puritans chafed under the growing 
despotism of Charles. Out of this unrest came the movement leading to 
the larger emigration to New England which Palfrey, the New England 
historian, describes. 

^PHE emigration of the Englishmen who settled at Plymouth 
had been prompted by religious dissent. In what manner 
Robinson, who was capable of speculating on political tendencies, 
or Brewster, whose early position had compelled him to observe 
them, had augured concerning the prospect of public affairs in 
their native country, no record tells; while the rustics of the 
Scrooby congregation, who fled from a government which denied 
them liberty in their devotions, could have had but little knowl- 



edge and no agency in the political sphere. The case was widely 
different with the founders of the Colony of Massachusetts Bay. 
That settlement had its rise in a state of things in England which 
associated religion and politics in an intimate alliance. 

Years had passed since the severity of the government had 
overcome the Separatists, forcing them either to disband their 
congregations or flee from the kingdom. From the time when 
Bishop Williams was made keeper of the great seal, four years 
before the death of King James, the high-commission court 
again became active, and the condition of Puritans in the Church 
was day by day more uneasy. While some among them looked 
for relief to a happy issue of the struggle which had been going 
on in Parliament, and resigned themselves to await and aid the 
slow progress of a political and religious reformation in the king- 
dom, numbers, less confident or less patient, pondered on exile 
as their best resource, and turned their view to a new home 
on the Western continent. There was yet a third class, who, 
through feeble resolution or a lingering hope of better things, 
deferred the sacrifices which they scarcely flattered themselves 
they should ultimately escape, and, if they were clergymen, re- 
tained their preferments by a reluctant obedience to the canons. 
The coquetry of Buckingham with the Puritans, inspiring false 
hopes, was not without effect to excuse indecision and hinder a 
combined and energetic action. 

Among the eminent persons who had reconciled themselves 
to the course of compromise and postponement was Mr. John 
White, an important name, which at this point takes its place in 
New England history. White, who since the second year of 
King James' reign had been rector of Trinity Church in Dor- 
chester, was a man widely known and greatly esteemed, alike for 
his professional character and his public spirit. The subject of 
New England colonization, much canvassed everywhere among 
the Puritans, who were numerous in the part of the kingdom 
where he lived, was commended to his notice in a special form. 
Dorchester, near the British Channel, the principal town of the 
shire, furnished numbers of those who now made voyages to 
New England for fishing and trade ; and they were often several 
months upon the coast without opportunity for religious worship 
and instruction. Mr. White interested himself with the ship- 


owners to establish a settlement where the mariners might have 
a home when not at sea, where supplies might be provided for 
them by farming and hunting, and where they might be brought 
under religious influences. The result of the conferences was 
the formation of an unincorporated joint-stock association, under 
the name of the "Dorchester Adventurers," which collected a 
capital of three thousand pounds. 

The Dorchester company turned its attention to the spot on 
Cape Ann where now stands the town of Gloucester. The 
Council for New England, perpetually embarrassed by the op- 
pugnation of the Virginia Company and the reasonable jealousy 
of Parliament, had recourse to a variety of expedients to realize 
the benefits vainly expected by its projectors. In carrying out 
one scheme, that of a division of the common property among the 
associates, the country about Cape Ann was assigned to Lord 
Sheffield, better known as a patriot leader under his later title of 
Earl of Mulgrave. Of him it was purchased for the people of 
New Plymouth by Edward Winslow, when in England on the 
business of that colony ; and they in turn conveyed to White and 
his associates such a site as was wanted for their purposes of fish- 
ing and planting. 

The Dorchester company had probably anticipated this ar- 
rangement by despatching a party of fourteen persons to pass the 
winter. They carried out live stock, and erected a house, with 
stages to dry fish and vats for the manufacture of salt. Thomas 
Gardner was overseer of the plantation, and John Tilley had 
the fishery in charge. Everything went wrong. Mishaps be- 
fell the vessels. The price of fish went down. The colonists, 
" being ill chosen and ill commanded, fell into many disorders 
and did the company little service." An attempt was made to 
retrieve affairs by putting the colony under a different direction. 
The Dorchester partners heard of "some religious and well- 
affected persons that were lately removed out of New Plymouth, 
out of dislike of their principles of rigid separation, of which num- 
ber Mr. Roger Conant was one, a religious, sober, and prudent 

He was then at Nantasket, with Lyford and Oldham. The 
partners engaged Conant "to be their governor" at Cape Ann, 
with "the charge of all their affairs, as well as fishing and plant- 


ing." With Lyford they agreed that he should "be the minister 
of the place," while Oldham, "invited to trade for them with the 
Indians," preferred to remain where he was and conduct such 
business on his own account. The change was not followed by 
the profits that had been hoped, and the next year "the advent- 
urers were so far discouraged that they abandoned the further 
prosecution of this design, and took order for the dissolving of 
the company on land, and sold away their shipping and other 
provisions." Another seemed added to the list of frustrated ad- 
venturers in New England. 

But Mr. White did not despair of its renewal. All along, it 
is likely, he had regarded it with an interest different from what 
had yet been avowed. At his instance, when "most part of the 
land-men returned," "a few of the most honest and industrious 
resolved to stay behind, and to take charge of the cattle sent over 
the year before. And not liking their seat at Cape Ann, chosen 
especially for the supposed commodity of fishing, they trans- 
ported themselves to Nahumkeike, about four or five leagues 
distant to the southwest from Cape Ann." 

White wrote to Conant, exhorting him "not to desert the 
business, faithfully promising that if himself with three others, 
whom he knew to be honest and prudent men, viz., John Wood- 
bury, John Balch, and Peter Palfrey, employed by the advent- 
urers, would stay at Naumkeag, and give timely notice thereof, 
he would provide a patent for them, and likewise send them what- 
ever they should write for, either men, or provision, or goods 
wherewith to trade with the Indians." With difficulty Conant 
prevailed upon his companions to persevere. They "stayed to 
the hazard of their lives." Woodbury was sent to England for 

"The business came to agitation afresh in London, and being 
at first approved by some and disliked by others, by argu- 
ment and disputation it grew to be more vulgar; insomuch that 
some men, showing good affection to the work, and offering the 
help of their purses if fit men might be procured to go over, in- 
quiry was made whether any would be willing to engage their 
persons in the voyage. By this inquiry it fell out that among 
others they lighted at last on Master Endicott, a man well known 
to divers persons of good note, who manifested much willingness 


to accept of the offer as soon as it was tendered, which gave great 
encouragement to such as were upon the point of resolution to 
set on this work of erecting a new colony upon the old founda- 

The scheme on foot was no longer one of Dorchester fisher- 
men looking for a profitable exercise of their trade. It had 
"come to agitation in London," where some men had offered 
"the help of their purses," and a man of consequence, Hum- 
phrey, probably from a county as distant as Lincoln, was al- 
ready, or very soon after, treasurer of the fund. Matters were 
ripe for the step of securing a domain for a colony, and the 
dimensions of the domain show that the colony was not intended 
to be a small one. A grant of lands extending from the Atlantic 
to the Western Ocean, and in width from a line of latitude three 
miles north of the River Merrimac to a line three miles south of 
the Charles, was obtained from the Council for New England by 
" Sir Henry Roswell and Sir John Young, knights, and Thomas 
Southcote, John Humphrey, John Endicott, and Simon Whit- 
comb, gentlemen," for themselves, "their heirs, and associates." 
Roswell and Young were gentlemen of Devon, Southcote was 
probably of the same county, and Whitcomb is believed to have 
been a London merchant. 

Gorges, though not in the counsels of the patentees, supposed 
himself to understand their object. Having mentioned the angry 
dissolution by King Charles of his second Parliament, and his 
imprisonment of some of the patriot leaders, he proceeds to say 
that these transactions "took all hope of reformation of church 
government from many not affecting episcopal jurisdiction, nor 
the usual practice of the Common Prayers of the Church ; where- 
of there were several sorts, though not agreeing among themselves, 
yet all of like dislike of those particulars. Some of the discreeter 
sort, to avoid what they found themselves subject unto, made use 
of their friends to procure from Council for the affairs of New 
England to settle a colony within their limits ; to which it pleased 
the thrice-honored Lord of Warwick to write to me, then at 
Plymouth, to condescend that a patent might be granted to such 
as then sued for it. Whereupon I gave my approbation, so far 
forth as it might not be prejudicial to my son Robert Gorges' 
interests, whereof he had a patent under the seal of the Coun- 


cil. Hereupon there was a grant passed as was thought reason- 

After three months Endicott, one of the six patentees, was 
despatched, in charge of a small party, to supersede Conant at 
Naumkeag as local manager. Woodbury had preceded them. 
They arrived at the close of summer. The persons quartered 
on the spot, the remains of Conant's company, were disposed to 
question the claims of the new-comers. But the dispute was 
amicably composed, and, in commemoration of its adjustment, 
the place took the name of Salem, the Hebrew name for peaceful. 
The colony, made up from the two sources, consisted of "not 
much above fifty or sixty persons," none of them of special im- 
portance except Endicott, who was destined to act for nearly 
forty years a conspicuous part in New England history. 

Before the winter, an exploring party either began or made 
preparations for a settlement at Mishawum, now Charlestown. 
With another party, Endicott, during Morton's absence in Eng- 
land, visited his diminished company at Merry-Mount, or, as 
Endicott called it, Mount Dagon, "caused their Maypole to be 
cut down, and rebuked them for their profaneness, and admon- 
ished them to look there should be better walking." The winter 
proved sickly; an "infection that grew among the passengers at 
sea, spread also among them ashore, of which many died, some 
of the scurvy, others of an infectious fever." Endicott sent to 
Plymouth for medical assistance, and Fuller, the physician of that 
place, made a visit to Salem. 

The New Dorchester Company, like that which had preceded 
it, and like the company of London Adventurers concerned in 
that settlement at Plymouth, was but a voluntary partnership, 
with no corporate powers. The extensive acquaintance of Mr. 
White with persons disaffected to the rulers in church and state 
was probably the immediate occasion of advancing the business 
another step. Materials for a powerful combination existed in 
different parts of the kingdom, and they were now brought to- 
gether for united action. The company, having been "much 
enlarged," a royal charter was solicited and obtained, creating a 
corporation under the name of the " Governor and Company of 
the Massachusetts Bay in New England." 

This is the instrument under which the colony of Massa- 


diusetts continued to conduct its affairs for fifty-five years. 
The patentees named in it were Roswell and his five associates, 
with twenty other persons, of whom White was not one. It gave 
power forever to the freemen of the company to elect annually, 
from their own number, a governor, deputy-governor, and eigh- 
teen assistants, on the last Wednesday of Easter term, and 
to make laws and ordinances, not repugnant to the laws of Eng- 
land, for their own benefit and the government of persons inhab- 
iting their territory. Four meetings of the company were to 
be held in a year, and others might be convened in a manner 
prescribed. Meetings of the governor, deputy-governor, and 
assistants were to be held once a month or oftener. The gov- 
ernor, deputy-governor, and any two assistants were author- 
ized, but not required, to administer to freemen the oaths of 
supremacy and allegiance. The company might transport set- 
tlers not " restrained by special name." They had authority to 
admit new associates, and to establish the terms of their admis- 
sion, and elect and constitute such officers as they should see fit 
for the ordering and managing of their affairs. They were em- 
powered " to encounter, repulse, repel, and resist by force of arms, 
as well as by sea as by land, and by all fitting ways and means 
whatsoever, all such person and persons as should at any time 
thereafter attempt or enterprise the destruction, invasion, detri- 
ment, or annoyance to the said plantation or inhabitants." 
Nothing was said of religious liberty. The government may 
have relied upon its power to restrain it, and the emigrants on 
their distance and obscurity to protect it. 

The first step of the new corporation was to organize a gov- 
ernment for its colony. It determined to place the local admin- 
istration in the hands of thirteen counsellors, to retain their 
offices for one year. Of these, seven besides the governor — in 
which office Endicott was continued — were to be appointed by the 
company at home ; these eight were to choose three others ; and 
the whole number was to be made up by the addition of such as 
should be designated by the persons on the spot at the time of 
Endicott's arrival, described as "old planters." 

A proposal had just been accepted from certain "Boston 
men" to interest themselves in the adventure to the amount of 
five hundred pounds, being a hundred pounds in addition to 


what, it appears, they had previously promised, "and to provide 
able men to send over." 

Unfortunately, no letter had been preserved of those sent by 
Endicott to England at this interesting juncture. There are, 
however, two letters addressed to him by the company, and one 
by Cradock, appointed in the charter to be its first governor. 
With various directions as to the details of his administration, 
they speak of the "propagation of the Gospel" as "the thing 
they do profess above all to be their aim in settling this planta- 
tion." They enjoin the keeping of "a diligent eye over their own 
people, and they live unblamable and without reproof." They 
forbid the planting of tobacco, except under severe restrictions. 
They order satisfaction to be given to the "old planters" by the 
offer of incorporation into the company and of a share in the 
lands. They speak of unsuccessful negotiations with Oldham, 
who asserted a claim under the patent of Robert Gorges, and 
give orders for anticipating him in taking possession of Massa- 
chusetts Bay. They direct that persons who may prove "not 
conformable to their government," or otherwise disagreeable, 
shall not be suffered "to remain within the limits of their grant," 
but be shipped to England. They prescribe a distribution of the 
servants among families, with a view to domestic order and 
Christian instruction and discipline. They enjoin a just settle- 
ment with the natives for lands. And they transmit a form of 
oaths to be taken by the governor and members of the coun- 

After the organization under the charter, no time was lost in 
despatching a reenforcement of colonists. Six vessels were pre- 
pared, and license was obtained from the lord treasurer for the 
embarkation of "eighty women and maids, twenty-six children, 
and three hundred men, with victuals, arms, and tools, and nec- 
essary apparel," and with "one hundred forty head of cattle, 
and forty goats." A committee of the company were careful 
"to make plentiful provision of godly ministers." Mr. Skelton, 
Mr. Higginson, and Mr. Bright, members of the Council, with 
Mr. Smith, another minister, sailed in the first three vessels, 
which reached Salem about the same time, and were soon fol- 
lowed by the residue of the fleet. Mr. Graves, another of the 
counsellors, was employed by the associates as an engineer. 


Immediately on arriving, he proceeded with "some of the 
company's servants under his care, and some others," to Misha- 
wum, where he laid out a town. Bright, who was one of his 
party, returned to England in the following summer, dissatisfied, 
probably, with the ecclesiastical proceedings which had taken 
place. Smith went for the present to the fishing- station at Nan- 

Higginson wrote home: "When we came first to Naumkeag 
we found about half-score houses, and a fair house newly built 
for the Governor. We found also abundance of corn planted 
by them, very good and well-liking. And we brought with us 
about two hundred passengers and planters more, which, by 
common consent of the old planters, were all combined together 
into one body politic, under the same Governor. There are in 
all of us, both old and new planters, about three hundred, where- 
of two hundred of them are settled at Naumkeag, now called 
Salem, and the rest have planted themselves at Masathuset's Bay, 
beginning to build a town there, which we do call Charleston, 
or Charlestown. But that which is our greatest comfort and 
means of defence above all other is, that we have here the true 
religion and holy ordinances of Almighty God taught among us. 
Thanks be to God, we have here plenty of preaching and dili- 
gent catechizing, with strict and careful exercise and good com- 
mendable orders to bring our people into a Christian conversa- 
tion with whom we have to do withal. And thus we doubt not 
but God will be with us; and if God be with us, who can be 
against us?" 

Meanwhile, a movement of the utmost importance, probably 
meditated long before, was hastened by external pressure. The 
state of public affairs in England in the spring and summer of 
this year had brought numbers to the decision which had been 
heretofore approached with sorrowful reluctance, and several 
persons of character and condition resolved to emigrate at once 
to the New World. It was necessary to their purpose to secure 
self-government as far as it could be exercised by British subjects. 

Possibly events might permit and require it to be vindicated 
even beyond that line. At any rate, to be ruled in America by a 
commercial corporation in England, was a condition in no sort 
accordant with their aim. At a general court of the company, 

E., VOL. XL — II. - 


Cn-dock, the Governor, "read certain propositions conceived by 
himself, viz., that for the advancement of the plantation, the 
inducing and encouraging persons of worth and quality to trans- 
plant themselves and families thither, and for other weighty 
reasons therein contained (it is expedient) to transfer the govern- 
ment of the plantation to those that shall inhabit there, and not 
to continue the same in subordination to the company here, as 
now it is." 

The corporation entertained the proposal, and, in view of 
"the many great and considerable consequences thereupon de- 
pending," reserved it for deliberation. Two days before its 
next meeting, twelve gentlemen, assembled at Cambridge, 
pledged themselves to each other to embark for New England 
with their families for a permanent residence, provided an ar- 
rangement should be made for the charter and the administra- 
tion under it to be transferred to that country. Legal advice was 
obtained in favor of the authority to make the transfer; and on 
full consideration it was determined, "by the general consent of 
the company, that the government patent should be settled in 
New England." The old officers resigned, and their places 
were filled with persons of whom most or all were expecting 
to emigrate. John Winthrop was chosen governor, with John 
Humphrey for deputy-governor, and eighteen others for assist- 
ants. Humphrey's departure was delayed, and on the eve of 
embarkation his place was supplied by Thomas Dudley. 

Winthrop, then forty-two years old, was descended from a 
family of good condition, long seated at Groton, in Suffolk, 
where he had a property of six or seven hundred pounds a year, 
the equivalent of at least two thousand pounds at the present day. 
His father was a lawyer and magistrate. Commanding uncom- 
mon respect and confidence from an early age, he had moved in 
the circles where the highest matters of English policy were dis- 
cussed, by men who had been associates of Whitgift, Bacon, 
Essex, and Cecil. Humphrey was " a gentleman of special parts, 
of learning and activity, and a godly man"; in the home of his 
father-in-law, Thomas, third earl of Lincoln, the head in that 
day of the now ducal house of Newcastle, he had been the famil- 
iar companion of the patriotic nobles. 

Of the assistants, Isaac Johnson, esteemed the richest of the 


emigrants, was another son-in-law of Lord Lincoln, and a land- 
holder in three counties. Sir Richard Saltonstall of Halifax, in 
Yorkshire, was rich enough to be a bountiful contributor to the 
company's operations. Thomas Dudley, with a company of 
volunteers which he had raised, had served, thirty years before, 
under Henry IV of France; since which time he had man- 
aged the estates of the Earl of Lincoln. He was old enough 
to have lent a shrill voice to the huzzas at the defeat of the 
armada, and his military services had indoctrinated him in the 
lore of civil and religious freedom. Theophilus Eaton, an emi- 
nent London merchant, was used to courts and had been min- 
ister of Charles I in Denmark. Simon Bradstreet, the son of 
a Non- conformist minister in Lincolnshire, and a grandson of 
"a Suffolk gentleman of a fine estate," had studied at Emanuel 
College, Cambridge. William Vassall was an opulent West- 
India proprietor. "The principal planters of Massachusetts," 
says the prejudiced Chalmers, "were English country gentlemen 
of no inconsiderable fortunes; of enlarged understandings, im- 
proved by liberal education; of extensive ambition, concealed 
under the appearance of religious humility." 

But it is not alone from what we know of the position, char- 
acter, and objects of those few members of the Massachusetts 
Company who were proposing to emigrate at the early period 
now under our notice, that we are to estimate the power and the 
purposes of that important corporation. It had been rapidly 
brought into the form which it now bore, by the political exi- 
gencies of the age. Its members had no less in hand than a wide 
religious and political reform — whether to be carried out in New 
England, or in Old England, or in both, it was for circumstances, 
as they should unfold themselves, to determine. The leading 
emigrants to Massachusetts were of that brotherhood of men 
who, by force of social consideration as well as of the intelligence 
and resolute patriotism, moulded the public opinion and action of 
England in the first half of the seventeenth century. While the 
larger part stayed at home to found, as it proved, the short- 
lived English republic, and to introduce elements into the English 
Constitution which had to wait another half-century for their 
secure reception, another part devoted themselves at once to the 
erection of free institutions in this distant wilderness. 


In an important sense the associates of the Massachusetts 
Company were builders of the British, as well as of the New 
England, commonwealth. Some ten or twelve of them, includ- 
ing Cradock, the Governor, served in the Long Parliament. Of 
the four commoners of that Parliament distinguished by Lord 
Clarendon as first in influence, Vane had been governor of the 
company, and Hampden, Pym, and Fiennes — all patentees of 
Connecticut — if not members, were constantly consulted upon 
its affairs. The latter statement is also true of the Earl of War- 
wick, the Parliament's admiral, and of those excellent persons, 
Lord Say and Sele and Lord Brooke, both of whom at one time 
proposed to emigrate. The company's meetings placed Win- 
throp and his colleagues in relations with numerous persons 
destined to act busy parts in the stirring times that were ap- 
proaching — with Brereton and Hewson, afterward two of the 
Parliamentary major-generals; with Philip Nye, who helped 
Sir Henry Vane to " cozen" the Scottish Presbyterian Commis- 
sioners in the phraseology of the Solemn League and Covenant ; 
with Samuel Vassall, whose name shares with those of Hampden 
and Lord Say and Sele the renown of the refusal to pay ship- 
money, and of courting the suit which might ruin them or emanci- 
pate England ; with John Venn, who, at the head of six thousand 
citizens, beset the House of Lords during the trial of Lord Straf- 
ford, and whom, with three other Londoners, King Charles, after 
the battle of Edgehill, excluded from his offer of pardon; with 
Owen Rowe, the " firebrand of the city " ; with Thomas Andrews, 
the lord mayor, who proclaimed the abolition of royalty. 

Sir John Young, named second in the original grant from the 
Council for New England, as well as in the charter from King 
Charles, sat in Cromwell's second and third Parliaments. Others 
of the company, as Vane and Adams, incurred the Protector's 
displeasure by too uncomplying principles. Six or seven were 
members of the high court of justice for the King's trial, on 
which occasion they gave a divided vote. Four were members 
of the committee of religion, the most important committee of 
Parliament ; and one, the counsellor, John White, was its chair- 

A question had been raised, whether the company had a 
right, and was legally competent, to convey the charter across 


the ocean, and execute on a foreign soil the powers conferred 
by it. Certain it is that no such proceeding is forbidden by the 
letter of the instrument ; and a not disingenuous casuistry might 
inquire, If the business of the company may be lawfully trans- 
acted in a western harbor of Great Britain, why not under the 
King's flag in a ship at sea or on the opposite shore ? It cannot 
be maintained that such a disposition of a colonial charter would 
be contrary to the permanent policy of England ; for other colo- 
nial charters, earlier and later, were granted — Sir William Alex- 
ander's, William Penn's, Lord Baltimore's, and those of Rhode 
Island and Connecticut — to be kept and executed without the 

As to the purpose of the grantor, those were not times for 
such men as the Massachusetts patentees to ask what the King 
wished or expected, but rather how much of freedom could be 
maintained against him by the letter of the law or by other right- 
eous means; and no principle of jurisprudence is better settled 
than that a grant is to be interpreted favorably to the grantees, 
inasmuch as the grantor, being able to protect himself, is to be 
presumed to have done so to the extent of his purpose. The 
eminent Puritan counsellor, John White, the legal adviser of the 
company in all stages of this important proceeding, instructed 
them that they could legally use the charter in this manner. 
Very probably it had been drawn by his own hand, in the form 
in which it passed the seals, with a care to have it free from any 
phraseology which might interfere with this disposition of it. 
Certainly Winthrop and his coadjutors may be pardoned for be- 
lieving that it was legally subject to the use to which they put it, 
since such was the opinion of the crown lawyers themselves, 
when, in the second following generation, the question became 
important. In the very heat of the persecution which at length 
broke down the charter, the Chief Justices, Rainsford and North, 
spoke of it as " making the adventurers a corporation upon the 
place," and Sawyer, attorney-general in the next reign, ex- 
pressed the same opinion — "The patent having created the gran- 
tees and their assigns a body corporate, they might transfer their 
charter and act in New England." 

He who well weighs the facts which have been presented in 
connection with the principal emigration to Massachusetts, and 


other related facts which will offer themselves to notice as we 
proceed, may find himself conducted to the conclusion that when 
Winthrop and his associates prepared to convey across the water a 
charter from the King which, they hoped, would in their begin- 
nings afford them some protection both from himself and through 
him from the powers of Continental Europe, they had conceived 
a project no less important than that of laying, on this side of the 
Atlantic, the foundations of a nation of Puritan Englishmen, 
foundations to be built upon as future circumstances should 
decide or allow. It would not perhaps be pressing the point too 
far to say that in view of the thick clouds that were gathering 
over their home, they contemplated the possibility that the time 
was near at hand when all that was best of what they left behind 
would follow them to these shores ; when a renovated England, 
secure in freedom and pure in religion, would rise in North 
America; when a transatlantic English empire would fulfil, in 
its beneficent order, the dreams of English patriots and sages of 
earlier times. 

If such were the aims of the members of the Massachusetts 
Company, it follows that commercial operations were a merely 
incidental object of their association. And, in fact, it does not 
appear that, as a corporation, they ever held for distribution any 
property except their land ; or that they ever intended to make 
sales of their land in order to a division of the profits among the 
individual freemen; or that a freeman, by virtue of the franchise, 
could obtain a parcel of land even for his own occupation; or 
that any money was ever paid for admission into the company, 
as would necessarily have been done if any pecuniary benefit 
was attached to membership. Several freemen of the company 
— among others the three who were first named in the charter as 
well as in the patent from the Council for New England — appear 
to have never so much as attended a meeting. They were men 
of property and public spirit, who, without intending themselves 
to leave their homes, gave their influence and their money to en- 
courage such as were disposed to go out and establish religion and 
freedom in a new country. 

The company had no stock, in the sense in which that word 
is used in speaking of money corporations. What money was 
needed to procure the charter, to conduct the business under it, 


and carry out the scheme of colonization was obtained neither by 
the sale of negotiable securities nor by assessment, but by volun- 
tary contributions from individuals of the company, and possibly 
from others, in such sums as suited the contributors respectively. 

These contributions made up what is called in the records the 
joint stock, designed to be used in providing vessels and stores 
for the transportation of settlers. It is true that these contrib- 
utors, called Adventurers, had more or less expectation of being 
remunerated for their outlay ; and for this purpose two hundred 
acres of land within the limits of the patent were pledged to them 
for every fifty pounds subscribed, in addition to a proportional 
share of the trade which the government of the company was 
expecting to carry on. But a share of the profits of trade, as of 
the land, was to be theirs, not because they were freemen, but 
because they were contributors, which many of the freemen were 
not, and perhaps others besides freemen were. 

When the transfer of the charter and of the government to 
America had been resolved upon, it was agreed that at the end of 
seven years a division of the profits of a proposed trade in fish, 
furs, and other articles should be made among the Adventurers 
agreeably to these principles; and the management of the busi- 
ness was committed to a board consisting of five persons who 
expected to emigrate, and five who were to remain in England. 
But this part of the engagement appears to have been lost sight 
of; at least never to have been executed. It is likely that the 
commercial speculation was soon perceived to be unpromising; 
and the outlay had been distributed in such proportions that the 
loss was not burdensome in any quarter. The richer partners 
submitted to it silently, from public spirit; the poorer, as a less 
evil than that of a further expense and risk of time and money. 

From the ship Arbella, lying in the port of Yarmouth, the 
Governor and several of his companions took leave of their 
native country by an address, which they entitled "The Humble 
Request of his Majesty's Loyal Subjects, the Governor and the 
Company late gone for New England, to the Rest of their Breth- 
ren in and of the Church of England." They asked a favorable 
construction of their enterprise, and good wishes and prayers 
for its success. With a tenacious affection which the hour of 
parting made more tender, they said: "We esteem it our honor 


to call the Church of England, from whence we rise, our dear 
mot'ier, and cannot part from our native country where she 
specially resideth, without much sadness of heart, and many 
tears in our eyes. Wishing our heads and hearts may be as 
fountains of tears for your everlasting welfare, when we shall 
be in our poor cottages in the wilderness, overshadowed with the 
spirit of supplication, through the manifold necessities and tribu- 
lations which may not altogether unexpectedly nor, we hope, un- 
profitably, befall us, and so commending you to the grace of God 
in Christ, we shall ever rest your assured friends and brethren." 
The address is said to have been drawn up by Mr. White, of 

The incidents of the voyage are minutely related in a journal 
begun by the Governor on shipboard off the Isle of Wight. 
Preaching and catechizing, fasting and thanksgiving, were duly 
observed. A record of the writer's meditations on the great 
design which occupied his mind while he passed into a new world 
and a new order of human affairs, would have been a document 
of the profoundest interest for posterity. But the diary contains 
nothing of that description. On the voyage Winthrop composed 
a little treatise, which he called A Model Christian Charity. It 
breathes the noblest spirit of philanthropy. The reader's mind 
kindles as it enters into the train of thought in which the author 
referred to "the work we have in hand. It is," he said, "by a 
mutual consent, through a special overruling Providence, and a 
more than an ordinary approbation of the churches of Christ, to 
seek out a place of cohabitation and consortship under a due form 
of government both civil and ecclesiastical." The forms and in- 
stitutions under which liberty, civil and religious, is consolidated 
and assured, were floating vaguely in the musings of that hour. 

The Arbella arrived at Salem after a passage of nine weeks, 
and was joined in a few days by three vessels which had 
sailed in her company. The assistants, Ludlow and Rossiter, 
with a party from the west country, had landed at Nantasket a 
fortnight before, and some of the Leyden people, on their way to 
Plymouth, had reached Salem a little earlier yet. Seven vessels 
from Southampton made their voyage three or four weeks later. 
Seventeen in the whole came before winter, bringing about a 
thousand passengers. 


It is desirable to understand how this population, destined 
to be the germ of a state, was constituted. Of members of the 
Massachusetts Company, it cannot be ascertained that so many 
as twenty had come over. That company, as has been ex- 
plained, was one formed mainly for the furtherance, not of any 
private interests, but of a great public object. As a corporation, 
it had obtained the ownership of a large American territory, on 
which it designed to place a colony which should be a refuge for 
civil and religious freedom. By combined counsels, it had ar- 
ranged the method of ordering a settlement, and the liberality 
of its members had provided the means of transporting those who 
should compose it. This done, the greater portion were content 
to remain and await the course of events at home, while a few 
of their number embarked to attend to the providing of the asy- 
lum which very soon might be needed by them all. 

It may be safely concluded that most of the persons who 
accompanied the emigrant members of the company to New 
England sympathized with them in their object. It may be in- 
ferred from the common expenditures which were soon incurred, 
that considerable sums of money were brought over. And almost 
all the settlers may be presumed to have belonged to one or an- 
other of the four following classes : (1) Those who paid for their 
passage and who were accordingly entitled on their arrival to a 
grant of as much land as if they had subscribed fifty pounds to 
the "common stock" of the company; (2) those who, for their 
exercise of some profession, art, or trade, were to receive specified 
remuneration from the company in money or land; (3) those 
who paid a portion of their expenses, and after making up the 
rest by labor at the rate of three shillings a day, were to receive 
fifty acres of land ; (4) indented servants, for whose conveyance 
their masters were to be remunerated at the rate of fifty acres of 
land for each. All Englishmen were eligible to the franchise of 
the Massachusetts Company; but until elected by a vote of the 
existing freemen no one had any share in the government of the 
plantation or in the selection of its governors. 

The reception of the new-comers was discouraging. More 
than a quarter part of their predecessors at Salem had died during 
the previous winter, and many of the survivors were ill or feeble. 
The faithful Higginson was wasting with a hectic fever, which 


soon proved fatal. There was a scarcity of all sorts of provisions, 
and not corn enough for a fortnight's supply after the arrival 
of the fleet. "The remainder of a hundred eighty servants,'' 
who, in the two preceding years, had been conveyed over at heavy 
cost, were discharged from their indentures, to escape the ex- 
pense of their maintenance. Sickness soon began to spread, and 
before the close of autumn had proved fatal to two hundred of 
this year's emigration. Death aimed at the "shining mark" he 
is said to love. Lady Arbella Johnson, coming "from a para- 
dise of plenty and pleasure, which she enjoyed in the family of a 
noble earldom, into a wilderness of wants," survived her arrival 
only a month; and her husband, singularly esteemed and be- 
loved by the colonists, died of grief a few weeks after. He was 
a holy man and wise and died in sweet peace." 

Giving less than a week to repose and investigations at Salem, 
Winthrop proceeded with a party in quest of some more attrac- 
tive place of settlement. He traced the Mystic River a few miles 
up from its mouth, and, after a three days' exploration, returned 
to Salem to keep the Sabbath. When ten or eleven vessels had 
arrived, a day of public thanksgiving was observed in acknowl- 
edgment of the divine goodness which had so far prospered the 

After a sufficient pause for deliberation and conference con- 
cerning the forms of organization of the new society, the subject 
of an ecclesiastical settlement was the first matter to receive 
attention. On a day solemnized with prayer and fasting, the 
Reverend Mr. Wilson, after the manner of proceeding in the 
year before at Salem, entered into a church covenant with 
Winthrop, Dudley, and Johnson. Two days after, on Sunday, 
they associated with them three of the assistants, Mr. Nowell, 
Mr. Sharpe, and Mr. Bradstreet, and two other persons, Mr. 
Gager and Mr. Colburn. Others were presently added; and the 
church, so constituted, elected Mr. Wilson to be its teacher, and 
ordained him to that charge at Mishawum. At the same time 
Mr. Nowell was chosen to be ruling elder, and Mr. Gager and 
Mr. Aspinwall to be deacons. From the promptness of these 
measures, it is natural to infer that they had been the subject of 
consideration and concert before the landing. But there was 
some lingering scruple respecting the innovation on accustomed 


forms ; and either for the general satisfaction or to appease some 
doubters, u the imposition of hands" was accompanied with 
" this protestation by all, that it was only as a sign of election and 

In the choice of a capital town, attention was turned to 
Mishawum, now Charlestown. Here, ten weeks after the land- 
ing, the first court of assistants on this side of the water was con- 
vened. The assistants present were Saltonstall, Ludlow, Ros- 
siter, Nowell, Sharpe, Pynchon, and Bradstreet. Three others 
were in the country : Johnson, Endicott, and Coddington. The 
question first considered was that of provision for the ministers. 
It was " ordered that houses be built for them with convenient 
speed at the public charge. Sir Richard Saltonstall undertook 
to see it done at his plantation (Watertown) for Mr. Phillips, and 
the Governor at the other plantation for Mr. Wilson." Allow- 
ances of thirty pounds a year to each of these gentlemen were to 
be made at the common charge of the settlements, " those of 
Mattapan and Salem exempted," as being already provided with 
a ministry. Provision was also made for Mr. Gager as engineer, 
and Mr. Penn as beadle. It was ordained "that carpenters, 
joiners, bricklayers, sawers, and thatchers should not take above 
two shillings a day, nor any man should give more, under pain of 
ten shillings to taker and giver"; and "sawers" were restricted 
as to the price they might take for boards. The use or removal 
of boats or canoes, without the owner's leave, was prohibited, 
under penalty of fine and imprisonment. Saltonstall, Johnson, 
Endicott, and Ludlow were appointed to be justices of the peace, 
besides the Governor and deputy-governor, who were always to 
have that trust by virtue of their higher office. And "it was or- 
dered that Morton, of Mount Woolison, should presently be sent 
for by process." Morton had lately been brought back to Plym- 
outh by Allerton — who incurred much censure on that account — 
and, repairing to Mount Wollaston, had resumed his old courses. 

A recital of the action of the board of assistants at their first 
meetings on this continent will explain the early exigencies of 
their administration, and the view entertained by them of their 
duties and powers. At a second court, held at Charlestown, the 
following business was transacted. It was agreed "that every 
third Tuesday there should be a court of assistants held at the 


Governor's house." It was "ordered that Thomas Norton, of 
Mount Wollaston, should presently be set into the bilboes, and 
after sent prisoner to England by the ship called the Gift, now 
returning thither; that all his goods should be seized upon to 
defray the charge of his transportation, payment of his debts, and 
to give satisfaction to the Indians for a canoe he unjustly took 
away from them; and that his house should be burned down to 
the ground, in sight of the Indians, for their satisfaction for many 
wrongs he had done them from time to time.' , Mr. Clarke was 
directed to pay to John Baker the sum of thirty-eight shillings, 
for cheating him in a sale of cloth. A stipend was granted to Mr. 
Patrick and Mr. Underhill, as military instructors and officers. 
The names of Boston, Dorchester, and Watertown were assigned 
to the places which still bear them. And it was ordered that no 
plantation should be made within the limits of the patent, with- 
out permission from a majority of the Board of Governor and 
Assistants, and that "a warrant should presently be sent to 
Agawam (Ipswich) to command those that are planted there 
forthwith to come away." 

At a third court, also held at Charlestown, regulations were 
enacted against allowing the Indians the use of firearms, and 
against parting with corn to them, or sending it out of the juris- 
diction, without a license. Constables were appointed for Salem 
and Dorchester. The wages of common laborers were fixed at 
sixpence a day, and those of mechanics who were employed in 
building at sixteen pence, in addition to "meat and drink." 
Order was given for the seizure of "Richard Clough's strong 
water, for his selling great quantity thereof to several men's ser- 
vants, which was the occasion of much disorder, drunkenness, 
and misdemeanor." The execution of a contract between cer- 
tain parties for the keeping of cattle was defined and enforced. 
Sir Richard Saltonstall was fined four bushels of malt for absent- 
ing himself from the meeting. Thomas Gray, for " divers things 
objected against him," was ordered " to remove himself out of the 
limits of this patent before the end of March next." "For the 
felony committed by him, whereof he was convicted by his own 
confession," John Gouldburn, as principal, and three other per- 
sons, as accessories, were sentenced "to be whipped, and after- 
ward set in the stocks." Servants, "either man or maid," were 


forbidden to " give, sell, or truck any commodity whatsoever, with- 
out license from their master, during the time of their service." 
An allowance was made to Captains Underbill and Patrick for 
quarters and rations; and, for their maintenance, a rate of fifty 
pounds was levied, of which sum Boston and Watertown were 
assessed eleven pounds each, and Charlestown and Dorchester 
seven pounds each, Roxbury five pounds, and Salem and Mystic 
each only three pounds — a sort of indication of the estimated 
wealth of those settlements respectively. 

The public business proceeded at the next two courts after 
the same manner. A restriction, which it seems had existed 
under Endicott's administration, on the price of beaver, was 
removed. A bounty was offered for the killing of wolves, to be 
paid by the owners of domestic animals in sums proportioned to 
the amount of their stock. Encouragement was given, by a legal 
rate of toll, to the setting up of a ferry between Charlestown and 
Boston. A servant of Sir Richard Saltonstall was sentenced to 
"be whipped for his misdemeanor toward his master"; and 
bonds were taken for good behavior in a case of " strong suspicion 
of incontinency." Sir Richard Saltonstall was fined five pounds 
for whipping two persons without the presence of another assist- 
ant. A man was ordered to be whipped for fowling on the Sab- 
bath-day; another for stealing a loaf of bread; and another for 
breaking an engagement to pilot a vessel, with the privilege, how- 
ever of buying off the punishment with forty shillings. The em- 
ployers of one Knapp, who was indebted to Sir Richard Salton- 
stall, and of his son, were directed to apply half of their wages to 
the discharge of the debt. An assessment or sixty pounds was 
laid on six settlements for the maintenance of Mr. Wilson and 
Mr. Phillips, of which sum Boston and Watertown were to pay 
twenty pounds each, and Charlestown half as much; and Rox- 
bury, Mystic, and Winnisimmet were charged with six pounds, 
three pounds, and one pound respectively. 

An epidemic sickness at Charlestown was ascribed to the 
want of good water. An ample supply of it being found in Bos- 
ton, a portion of the people removed to that peninsula; and there 
for the first time after their arrival on this continent, was held one 
of those quarterly general courts of the Company of Massachu- 
setts Bay, which were prescribed in a provision of the charter. 


A.D. 1632 


No actor in the Thirty Years' War left a more brilliant name than 
Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden. His military reputation, which 
rests on solid achievement, was much enhanced by the victory at Luetzen, 
although the King early fell on the field. That triumph, which was won 
largely through the inspiration of his spirit and the shock of its untimely 
departure, contributed to the remarkable advancement of Sweden which 
his reign had already inaugurated. 

Before the interference of Gustavus in the war, the Catholic party 
had defeated the Protestants in almost every engagement. The Protes- 
tant leaders, Christian IV of Denmark, Count Mansfeld, and Christian 
of Anhalt, had been no match for Tilly, commanding the force of the 
Holy League, and Wallenstein, leader of the Imperial army. When 
Gustavus joined in the conflict, Wallenstein had quitted the service of 
the Emperor Ferdinand II, and the great Swede's first opponent was 
Tilly, the imperial generalissimo. Tilly's ruthless sack of Magdeburg, 
in 1631, brought many hesitating Protestants to the side of Gustavus, and 
on the field of Leipsic or Breitenfeld, September 7, 163 1, he completely 
overcame his strong enemy. In April following, Tilly, the victor in 
thirty-six battles, fell in another conflict with Gustavus. The Swedish 
King continued his campaign in Germany, and November 16, 1632, he 
met Wallenstein, who again commanded the Imperial forces, and his 
lieutenant, Count Pappenheim, on the fatal but glorious field of Luetzen. 
The King had gathered his forces at Erfurt, and there he bade fare- 
well to his Queen, tenderly commending her to the care of the city magis- 

/^VN October 30th Gustavus sent Bernhard, Duke of Saxe- Wei- 
mar, forward with eleven thousand men to observe Pap- 
penheim. The Duke took the road by Buttstadt to Freiburg, 
and from thence, after crossing the Saale, to Naumburg, where 
he arrived just in time to anticipate the enemy. 

The next day the King gave the military command at Erfurt 
to Dupadel, and proceeded himself to Naumburg. Here the 



joy and confidence which his presence inspired, "as if he had 
been a god," far from elating him, awakened only in his mind a 
feeling of humility and a sorrowful presentiment that some dis- 
aster to himself would soon convince the Naumburgers of the 
frailty of the idol in whom they trusted. 

On Sunday, November 14th, he learned, by an intercepted 
letter, that Pappenheim had been sent to Halle, and that the 
next day the Imperial army was to leave Weissenfels. He would 
now have attacked Wallentsein at once; but the dissuasions of 
Kniphausen — it is said — prevailed, and he agreed to defer the 
hazard of a battle until he should have been reenforced by Duke 
George of Luneburg and the Elector of Saxony. 

Accordingly, having written to the Elector, who lay at Tor- 
gau, to meet him at Eilenburg, he was himself marching to Pe- 
gau, in that direction, when some gentlemen and peasants of the 
neighborhood brought him word that Wallensein's troops were 
still quartered in the villages around Luetzen, and that he was not 
aware of the King's army being on the march. "Then," ex- 
claimed Gustavus, "I verily believe the Lord has delivered him 
into my hand," and instantly darted toward his prey. 

Luetzen was now in sight ; the peasants said it was close at 
hand. But it proved more distant than this indefinite expression, 
or the measure of their own eager gaze, had led the Swedes to 
calculate. Moreover, a small river, the Rippart, that lay be- 
tween the King and Luetzen, whose narrow bridge could be only 
passed by one or two at a time, impeded the advance full two 
hours — a skirmish with Isolani's cavalry, who were quartered at 
a village near the bridge, may also have occasioned some little 
loss of time — so that when the Swedish army had reached the 
fatal field it was nightfall, and too late to begin the battle. 

Wallenstein made good use of the delay. On the first intelli- 
gence of the King's approach he had written to Pappenheim — 
the letter is still preserved in the archives of Vienna, stained 
with Pappenheim's blood — apprising him of the danger, and re- 
quiring him to join at daybreak, with every man and gun. Dur- 
ing the night and early in the morning, which proved very 
misty, he mustered his troops, and made his dispositions, deepen- 
ing the drains by the highroads to form intrenchments for his 


The King passed the night in his carriage, chiefly in conver- 
sation with his generals. Early in the morning he had prayers 
read to himself by his chaplain, Frabricius. The rest of the army 
sang Luther's hymn, " Our God is a strong tower"; and Gusta- 
vus himself led another hymn — " Jesus Christ our Saviour, he 
overcame death." 

The King mounted his horse without having broken his fast. 
He wore a plain buff coat, without armor; replying, it is said, to 
some remark upon this deficiency, that "God was his harness." 
He addressed a few words of encouragement, first to the Swedes, 
then to Germans of his army, and to this effect: " My brave and 
beloved subjects!" he said to the Swedish regiments, "now is the 
time to prove your discipline and courage, confirmed in many a 
fight. Yonder is the enemy you have sought so long, not now 
sheltered by strong ramparts nor posted on inaccessible heights, 
but ranged in fair and open field. Advance, then, by God's help, 
not so much to fight as to conquer. Spare not your blood, your 
lives, for your king, your country, your God; and the present 
and eternal blessing of the Almighty, and an illustrious name 
throughout the Christian world, await you. But if, which God 
forbid, you prove cowards, I swear that not a bone of you shall 
return to Sweden. The Lord preserve you all!" 

To the Germans he said: "My brave allies and fellow-sol- 
diers, I adjure you by your fame, your honor, and your con- 
science ; by the interests temporal and eternal now at stake ; by 
your former exploits, by the remembrance of Tilly and the Breit- 
enfeld — bear yourselves bravely to-day. Let the field before you 
become illustrious by a similar slaughter. Forward! I will this 
day not only be your general, but your comrade. I will not only 
command you, I will lead you on. Add your efforts to mine. 
Extort from the enemy, by God's help, that victory, of which the 
chief fruits will be to you and to your children. But if you shrink 
from the contest, remember that religion, liberty — all will be 
lost, and that by your remissness." 

Having finished his addresses, to which both Swedes and 
Germans responded by hearty cheers and acclamations, the 
King cast up his eyes to heaven and said, "O my Lord Jesus! 
Son of God, bless these our arms, and this day's battle, for thine 
own glory and holy name's sake." Then, drawing his sword, 


and waving it over his head, advanced, the foremost of all his 

The numbers of the two armies at this moment were probably 
nearly equal. Diodati, indeed, who carried to the Emperor from 
Wallenstein a verbal report of the battle, which by Ferdinand's 
order he afterward drew up in writing, stated the Swedish army to 
have been 25,000 strong, the Imperial 12,000 only. This is to be 
understood as referring to the beginning of the engagement, before 
Pappenheim had come up, at which time, on the other hand, 
Harte and Mauvillon estimate the Imperial force at from 28,000 
to 30,000 men, Gfrorer at 25,000 — estimates which are as cer- 
tainly exaggerations as Diodati 's diminution of the truth. Gus- 
tavus would not only have departed from his avowed maxims 
and previous practice, he would have run counter to every sound 
strategical principle, had he attacked without necessity an army 
numerically so superior. For that the Swedish force amounted 
in all to not more than 18,000 men there is as much proof almost 
as it is possible to attain in such a matter. 

A rough calculation would make Wallenstein and Pappen- 
heim' s whole united force not more than 27,000, unless any re- 
enforcements took place which have not been recorded, or which 
have escaped my notice. If we estimate Pappenheim's division 
at 10,000, this will give 17,000 Imperialists on the field before 
he joined again on the day of the battle. But the Swedish Intel- 
ligencer, whose information was derived from English officers 
about the person of Gustavus, conceives that Wallenstein must 
have had at this time full 20,000, or, as he afterward modifies 
his opinion, that he must have had 30,000 in all, of whom 10,000 
or 12,000 were with Pappenheim. 

According to these estimates, then, we may conclude that 
there were in the Imperial camp at Luetzen, on November 
5th, from 15,000 to 18,000, or perhaps even 20,000, men. Such 
numbers offered to Gustavus, especially under the circumstances, 
a strong temptation to attack them; and, the Imperial army be- 
ing so divided, he had a reasonable hope — a hope by which he 
was justified in forcing the engagement — that he should be able 
to defeat successively both divisions. Even as it was, Pappen- 
heim's foot not arriving soon enough to support contributed in 
no small degree to the loss of the battle. 

E., VOL. XI. — 12. 


The field, which was intersected by a canal that unites the 
Saale and the Elster, called the Flossgraben, was almost a level; 
but of all the accidents afforded by such ground Wallenstein had 
taken advantage. Luetzen lay to his right a little in front. Be- 
tween it and three windmills close to his right wing intervened 
some mud-walled gardens. These he made use of as forts, 
throwing into them little garrisons, and loopholing the walls. 
The mill hills he converted into batteries, and the dry ditches 
by the roadside into breastworks for his musketeers. 

The fog having cleared off for a season, at ten o'clock the 
battle began. The wind and sun were in the King's favor; but 
Wallenstein had the advantage in weight of artillery and posi- 
tion. Gustavus did not long sustain the cannonade of the 
enemy before he gave the order to charge toward the highway 
and dislodge the musketeers who occupied the ditches on the 
side of it. This being effected, the whole line continued to ad- 
vance, and the three infantry brigades of the centre took the bat- 
teries on the other side of the highroad, but, not being supported 
in time by their cavalry, who had been impeded by the wayside 
ditches, lost them again and were compelled to fall back. 

When the King knew that the first battery was taken, he un- 
covered his head and thanked God, but soon after, learning that 
the centre had been repulsed, he put himself at the head of the 
Smaland cavalry and charged the Imperial cuirassiers, the 
" black lads," with whom he had just before told Stalhaske to 
grapple. Piccolomini hastened to support the cuirassiers; and 
the Swedes, being overmatched, retreated without perceiving — 
the fog having again come over — that they had left the King in 
the midst of the enemy. A pistol- ball now broke his arm; and 
as the Duke of Lauenburg was supporting him out of the battle, 
an Imperial cuirassier came behind him and shot him in the 
back. He then fell from his horse; and, other cuirassiers com- 
ing up, one of them completed the work of death. 

It is added on the testimony of a young gentleman named 
Leubelfing, the son of Colonel Leubelfing, of Nuremberg, and page 
to the Lord Marshal Crailsham, that being near when the King 
fell, and seeing that his charger, wounded in the neck, had gal- 
loped away, he dismounted and offered him his own horse. 
Gustavus stretched out his hands to accept the offer; and the 


page attempted to lift him from the ground, but was unable. 
In the mean time some cuirassiers, attracted to the spot, de-. 
manded who the wounded man was. Leubelfing evaded the 
question or refused to answer; but the King himself exclaimed, 
"I am the King of Sweden," when he received four gunshot 
wounds and two stabs, which quickly released him from the 
agony of his broken arm, the bone of which had pierced the 
flesh and protruded. The Imperialist soldiers about the King, 
each anxious to possess some trophy, had stripped the body to 
the shirt, and were about to carry it off when a body of Swedish 
cavalry, charging toward the spot, dispersed them. 

His death was immediately communicated, by one of the 
few who were about his person when he fell, to the Swedish gen- 
erals. His charger, galloping loose and bloody about the field, an- 
nounced to many more that some disaster had befallen him. The 
whole extent of the calamity, however, was not generally known ; 
but a burning desire ran through the ranks to rescue him, if living; 
to avenge him, if dead. The noble Bernhard of Saxe- Weimar 
sustained and animated the enthusiasm. Having whispered to 
Kniphausen that Gustavus was dead, he asked him what was to 
be done? Kniphausen answered that his troops were in good 
order, and that retreat was practicable; to which the fiery Duke 
answered that it was not a question of retreat, but of vengeance 
in victory. This said, he assumed the command, and, upon 
Stenbock's lieutenant- colonel hesitating to advance when he or- 
dered him, passed his sword through his body, and led on to the 
attack three other regiments, after a few words which gave fresh 
fuel to their ardor. Again the lost ground is won, the lost bat- 
teries are recovered. Wallenstein's ammunition explodes, and 
seven of his guns are captured. 

Stalhanske rallies his Finlanders, drives back the Imperial 
cuirassiers, and bears away the King's body — easily distin- 
guished from the rest of the slain by its heroic stature. But many 
still are the vicissitudes of that memorable day. Pappenheim 
brings fresh masses and fresh courage into the field. He is slain ; 
content to die, since Gustavus, the foe of the Emperor and of his 
faith, breathes no longer; but Piccolomini and Tershy have in- 
herited his spirit. The Swedes are beaten back; several stand- 
ards and royal banners are won by the Imperialists. Count 


Brahe is mortally wounded; and of his division — the flower of 
all the army, the brave veterans "who have been so long accus- 
tomed to conquer that they knew not how to yield" — there re- 
mains but an inconsiderable fraction. 

During all these vicissitudes the cool intrepidity of Knip- 
hausen had kept the second line of the centre unbroken; and 
when, between three and four o'clock, the fog cleared off, and 
Duke Bernhard, who had expected a very different appearance, 
saw it standing firm and in good order, he raised his voice once 
more to renew the assault. This charge again changed the aspect 
of the battle; but the mist again spreading, again the Swedes 
are baffled when within a grasp of victory. The fifth and decisive 
charge was made just before sunset, when the arrival of Pappen- 
heim's foot encouraged the Imperialists to make a final and des- 
perate struggle. Kniphausen's fresh troops were now brought 
into action. The sharp ring of the musketry, the shouts of those 
full of fife and hope, stifled once more the groans of the wounded 
comrades, in whom life was expiring and hope was dead. Both 
sides fought bravely, admirably; and, had strength and courage 
alone determined this last agony, doubtful indeed would have 
been its issue. But the Swedish cannon now again opened their 
flaming mouths upon the right flank and front of the Imperial- 
ists ; and the effect was terrible : rank upon rank and file upon 
file fell beneath that crushing fire ; so that when darkness thick- 
ened around the still contending armies, taking advantage of its 
cover, and leaving behind him the guns which had not been al- 
ready captured, Wallenstein gave the signal to retreat, and drew 
off from the field. 

Thus ended this day of mingled glory and sadness, the mists 
and confusion of which have in a great measure obscured 
its history. The numbers engaged, the order of battle on the 
side of the Imperialists, the number of the slain, the period of 
Pappenheim's arrival, what part of his forces were actually en- 
gaged; above all, the circumstances of the King's death, are 
perplexed amid the contrariety of contemporary narrations, rep- 
resenting partly the imperfection of human testimony and partly 
the different interests, jealousies, and suspicions of the times. 

Among the last may be mentioned the imputation cast upon 
the Duke Francis Albert of Lauenburg, of having, according to 


previous compact with the Imperialists, murdered the King on 
the field of battle. This he is said to have effected as he was 
leading him away wounded, by placing a pistol behind him, and 
shooting him in the back. The Duke, who was now about 
thirty-two years of age, had served during the Mantuan war in 
the Imperial army, but, from some impression that he had been 
neglected, joined Gustavus two or three weeks before the battle 
of Luetzen, as a volunteer. After the King had fallen, supposing 
that all was lost, he ran away to Weissenfels, and did not appear 
again among the Swedish ranks until next morning, when the 
cool reception he received from the generals induced him prob- 
ably to leave and go to Dresden, where he obtained from his re- 
lation, the Elector of Saxony, the rank of field-marshal under 
Arnim. Wallenstein courted his friendship by restoring to him 
without ransom some of his attendants captured at Luetzen. 
The Duke was not ungrateful, and took a zealous part in the ne- 
gotiations between Wallenstein and the Elector of Saxony, and 
Duke Bernhardof Saxe-Weimar in January and February, 1634. 
On the night of Wallenstein's assassination he was arrested by 
Gordon and sent to Vienna, where he remained a year in im- 
prisonment, but, at the expiration of that time, by embracing the 
Roman Catholic faith, obtained at once his freedom and a com- 
mand in the Imperial army in Silesia. In the battle of Sweidnitz, 
May 30, 1642, he was wounded and taken prisoner. Torstenson 
rescued him with difficulty from the vengeance of the Swedish 
soldiers ; and the next day he died of his wounds. 

The story that he had murdered the King had at one time 
taken such a hold upon the Swedes that no historian of that 
nation could venture to treat it as a fable. But a full examination 
of the facts by Forster shows upon how slight a foundation the 
charge has rested. The motive of personal animosity arising out 
of a blow given by the King to the Duke is destroyed by the fact 
that the quarrel in which the insult is supposed to have been given 
was not with Duke Francis, but with his brother. The corrobo- 
ration of his guilt, that he wore the device of Wallenstein's offi- 
cers in the field, a green scarf, is annihilated by the answer that 
Wallenstein's officers did not wear green scarfs, but crimson. 
And the only direct evidence of his crime falls to pieces against 
counter- evidence of still greater weight. Even the Swedes them- 


selves, if they still retain the convictions of their forefathers, have 
grown tolerant of opposite convictions; and Geijer has not scru- 
pled to intimate, with tolerable plainness, that he considers the 
charge against the Duke of Saxe Lauenburg unproved. 

Gustavus' body was brought on a powder- wagon to the 
hamlet of Meuchen, where it was placed for the night in the 
church, before the altar. The next day it was carried to the 
schoolmaster's house, until he, being joiner of the village also, 
constructed the simple shell in which it was conveyed to Weis- 
senfels. There the body was embalmed by the Bang's apothe- 
cary, Caspar, who counted in it nine wounds. The heart, which 
was uncommonly large, was preserved by the Queen in a golden 
casket. A trooper, who had been wounded at the King's side, 
who remained at Meuchen until his wound was healed, assisted 
by some peasants, rolled a large stone toward the spot where he 
fell. They were unable, however, to bring the stone, now called 
the " Swede's Stone," to the exact spot, from which it stands 
some thirty or forty paces distant. 

The death of Gustavus Adolphus cast a gloom over the whole 
of Europe. Even foes could lament the fall of so noble an en- 
emy. To his subjects, to his allies, to the bondmen who looked 
to him for redress and deliverance, his loss was a heartrending 
sorrow. Grave and aged senators wrung their hands and sobbed 
aloud when intelligence reached Stockholm. In the unfortunate 
Frederick of Bohemia it produced, as we have seen, a depression 
that contributed probably to this death. 

Nor was the grief shown by the many merely political or self- 
ish, excited because the public or individual hopes centred in the 
King seemed to have perished with him. A heartfelt loyalty, a 
strong personal admiration and attachment, intermingled with 
other sources of regret and dignified the sorrow. 

It would have been strange had it been otherwise. There 
were in Gustavus most of the advantages and amenities of per- 
son and character which make a popular king, a man admired 
and beloved. In his latter years, indeed, he no longer possessed 
the graceful form that had belonged to him when he was an ar- 
dent and favored suitor of Ebba Brahe ; but the slight inclination to 
corpulency that grew with him as he advanced toward middle age 
detracted probably little, if at all, from the commanding dignity of 


his person. His countenance to the last retained its captivating 
sweetness and expressive variety. It was a countenance of which 
the most accomplished pencil could give in one effort only an in- 
adequate idea, and which Vandyke — to whose portrait of the 
King none of the engravings which I have seen, probably, do 
justice — has represented only in repose. 

But in the varying play of Gustavus' features men could read 
his kindness of heart, his large powers of sympathy, his quick 
intelligence, his noble, chivalrous nature. And these were infi- 
nitely attractive. There, too — it must not be concealed — they 
could often discern the flash of anger, to be followed quickly by 
the rough speech which gave pain and offence where a little self- 
control and consideration might have spared a pang and pre- 
vented a quarrel. 

This propensity to anger diminished in some degree both the 
popularity and merit of Gustavus; yet he rarely permitted his 
anger to rage beyond a harsh expression, and with generous in- 
stinct he knew how to open the door of reconciliation, not only 
by frankly confessing his irritability, and by conferring fresh fa- 
vors, but also by demanding fresh services from those noble nat- 
ures which in his heat and rashness he had injured or pained. 

In the field he shared the dangers of his soldiers with a cour- 
age liable, doubtless, to the charge of temerity, but to which, no 
less than to his participation in their hardships, his sympathy 
with their feelings, and his great military talents, he owed, under 
God, his success and renown. That his military fame was well 
founded, that no series of accidents could have produced suc- 
cess, at once so splendid and so uniform, we must have believed, 
though all professional authorities had been silent; but the 
special merit of no other commander has been more generally 
acknowledged by those of his own craft. His most celebrated 
living rival and the greatest conqueror of modern times have 
both set their seals to it. Wallenstein on two separate occasions 
pronounced him the greatest captain of his age ; and among the 
eight best generals whom, in his judgment, the world had ever 
seen, Napoleon gave a place to Gustavus Adolphus. 


A.D. 1633 


From Socrates to Galileo, as from the Church's early martyrs to its 
latest victims, runs the same story of conflict between the free human 
spirit and the repressive environment of custom acting through personal 
will or through constituted power. 

When in 1633 Galileo, standing before the Inquisition at Rome, de- 
nied his own great work and swore that earth stood still, science stag- 
gered under the heavy blow. Galileo was being punished, not directly 
for the great astronomical discoveries he had made with his telescope, 
but for asserting that they proved, or that he believed in, the Copernican 
system. This declared that the earth moved, while the churchmen had 
interpreted the Bible to mean that it did not. 

Thus science, threatened in the person of its greatest leader, terrified 
by his sufferings, no longer dared proclaim the thing it saw. Descartes 
and many another thinker, though throbbing with the eagerness of the 
new dawning light, hushed their voices, hid their views. They were 
philosophers, not martyrs. What this newly roused vigor of thought 
might have accomplished except for the repressive hand of the Church 
we cannot tell. As it was, the supremacy of intellect passed away 
from Catholic Italy, turned from the South to the North, from Galileo 
to Newton and Leibnitz. The forced recantation of the great astron- 
omer thus stands out as one of the events which have changed the course 
of destiny. 

TN 1615 Pope Paul V wrote requesting Galileo to come to Rome 
to explain his views. He went, was well received, made a 
special friend of Cardinal Barberino — an accomplished man in 
high position, who became, in fact, the next Pope. Galileo 
showed cardinals and others his telescope, and to as many as 
would look through it he showed Jupiter's satellites and his other 
discoveries. He had a most successful visit. He talked, he 
harangued, he held forth in the midst of fifteen or twenty dis- 
putants at once, confounding his opponents and putting them to 

His method was to let the opposite arguments be stated as 



fully and completely as possible, himself aiding, and often adduc- 
ing, the most forcible and plausible arguments against his own 
views; and then, all having been well stated, he would proceed to 
utterly undermine and demolish the whole fabric, and bring out 
the truth in such a way as to convince all honest minds. It was 
this habit that made him such a formidable antagonist. He 
never shrank from meeting an opposing argument, never sought 
to ignore it or cloak it in a cloud of words. Every hostile argu- 
ment he seemed to delight in, as a foe to be crushed, and the better 
and stronger they sounded the more he liked them. He knew many 
of them well, he invented a number more, and, had he chosen, could 
have out-argued the stoutest Aristotelian on his own grounds. 
Thus did he lead his adversaries on, almost like Socrates, only 
to ultimately overwhelm them in a more hopeless rout. All this 
in Rome, too, in the heart of the Catholic world. Had he been 
worldly-wise, he would certainly have kept silent and unob- 
trusive till he had leave to go away again. But he felt like an 
apostle of the new doctrines, whose mission it was to proclaim 
them even in this centre of the world and of the Church. 

Well, he had an audience with the Pope — a chat an hour long 
— and the two parted good friends, mutually pleased with each 

He writes that he is all right now, and might return home 
when he liked. But the question began to be agitated whether 
the whole system of Copernicus ought not to be condemned as 
impious and heretical. This view was persistently urged upon 
the Pope and college of cardinals, and it was soon to be decided 

Had Galileo been unfaithful to the Church he could have left 
them to stultify themselves in any way they thought proper, and 
himself had gone ; but he felt supremely interested in the result, 
and he stayed. He writes : 

" So far as concerns the clearing of my own character, I might 
return home immediately; but although this new question re- 
gards me no more than all those who for the last eighty years have 
supported those opinions both in public and private, yet, as per- 
haps I may be of some assistance in that part of the discussion 
which depends on the knowledge of truths ascertained by means 
of the sciences which I profess, I, as a zealous and Catholic Chris- 


tian, neither can nor ought to withhold that assistance which my 
knowledge affords, and this business keeps me sufficiently em- 

It is possible that his stay was the worst thing for the cause he 
had at heart. Anyhow, the result was that the system was con- 
demned, and both the book of Copernicus and the epitome of it 
by Kepler were placed on the forbidden list, 1 and Galileo himself 
was formally ordered never to teach or to believe the motion of 
the earth. 

He quitted Rome in disgust, which before long broke out in 
satire. The only way in which he could safely speak of these 
views now was as if they were hypothetical and uncertain, and so 
we find him writing to the Archduke Leopold, with a presenta- 
tion copy of his book on the tides, the following : 

"This theory occurred to me when in Rome while the theo- 
logians were debating on the prohibition of Copernicus' book, 
and of the opinion maintained in it of the motion of the earth, 
which I at that time believed : until it pleased those gentlemen to 
suspend the book, and declare the opinion false and repugnant 
to the Holy Scriptures. Now, as I know how well it becomes me 
to obey and believe the decisions of my superiors, which proceed 
out of more knowledge than the weakness of my intellect can attain 
to, this theory which I send you, which is founded on the motion 
of the earth, I now look upon as a fiction and a dream, and beg 
your highness to receive it as such. But as poets often learn to 
prize the creations of their fancy, so in like manner do I set some 
value on this absurdity of mine. It is true that when I sketched 
this little work I did hope that Copernicus would not, after eighty 
years, be convicted of error; and I had intended to develop and 
amplify it further, but a voice from heaven suddenly awakened 
me, and at once annihilated all my confused and entangled fan- 

This sarcasm, if it had been in print, would probably have 
been dangerous. It was safe in a private letter, but it shows us 
his real feelings. However, he was left comparatively quiet for a 
time. He was getting an old man now, and passed the time 
studiously enough, partly at his house in Florence, partly at his 
villa in Arcetri, a mile or so out of the town. 

1 They remained there till 1835, when they were dropped. 


Here was a convent, and in it his two daughters were nuns. 
One of them, who passed under the name of Sister Maria Celeste, 
seems to have been a woman of considerable capacity — certainly 
she was of a most affectionate disposition — and loved and hon- 
ored her father in the most dutiful way. 

This was a quiet period of his life, spoiled only by occasional 
fits of illness and severe rheumatic pains, to which the old man 
was always liable. Many little circumstances are known of this 
peaceful time. For instance, the convent clock won't go, and 
Galileo mends it for them. He is always doing little things for 
them, and sending presents to the lady superior and his two 

He was occupied now with problems in hydrostatics and on 
other matters unconnected with astronomy : a large piece of work 
which I must pass over. Most interesting and acute it is, how- 

In 1623, when the old Pope died, there was elected to the 
papal throne, as Urban VIII, Cardinal Barberino, a man of very 
considerable enlightenment, and a personal friend of Galileo's, 
so that both he and his daughters rejoice greatly, and hope 
that things will come all right, and the forbidding edict be with- 

The year after this election he manages to make another jour- 
ney to Rome to compliment his friend on his elevation to the 
pontifical chair. He had many talks with Urban, and made him- 
self very agreeable. 

Encouraged, doubtless, by marks of approbation, and re- 
posing too much confidence in the individual good- will of the 
Pope, without heeding the crowd of half-declared enemies who 
were seeking to undermine his reputation, he set about, after his 
return to Florence, his greatest literary and most popular work, 
Dialogues on the Ptolemaic and Copernican Systems. This pur- 
ports to be a series of four conversations between three characters : 
Salviati, a Copernican philosopher; Sagredo, a wit and scholar, 
not specially learned, but keen and critical, and who lightens the 
talk with chaff; Simplicio, an Aristotelian philosopher, who pro- 
pounds the stock absurdities which served instead of arguments 
to the majority of men. 

The Aristotelians were furious, and represented to the Pope 


that he himself was the character intended by Simplicio, the 
philosopher whose opinions get alternately refuted and ridiculed 
by the other two, till he is reduced to an abject state of impo- 

The infirm old man was instantly summoned to Rome. His 
friends pleaded his age — he was now seventy — his ill-health, the 
time of year, the state of the roads, the quarantine existing on 
account of the plague. It was all of no avail; to Rome he must 
go, and on February 14th he arrived. 

His daughter at Arcetri was in despair; and anxiety and fast- 
ings and penances self-inflicted on his account dangerously re- 
duced her health. 

At Rome he was not imprisoned, but he was told to keep in- 
doors and show himself as little as possible. He was allowed, 
howeve~, to stay at the house of the Tuscan ambassador instead 
of in jail. 

By April he was removed to the chambers of the Inquisition 
and examined several times. Here, however, the anxiety was too 
much, and his health began to give way seriously; so, before 
long, he was allowed to return to the ambassador's house; and, 
after application had been made, was allowed to drive in the pub- 
lic garden in a half-closed carriage. Thus in every way the In- 
quisition dealt with him as leniently as they could. He was now 
their prisoner, and they might have cast him into their dungeons, 
as many another had been cast. By whatever they were in- 
fluenced — perhaps the Pope's old friendship, perhaps his ad- 
vanced age and infirmities — he was not so cruelly used. 

Still, they had their rules ; he must be made to recant and ab- 
jure his heresy ; and, if necessary, torture must be applied. This 
he knew well enough, and his daughter knew it, and her distress 
may be imagined. Moreover, it is not as \i\ they had really been 
heretics, as if they hated or despised the Church of Rome. On 
the contrary, they loved and honored the Church. They were 
sincere and devout worshippers, and only on a few scientific mat- 
ters did Galileo presume to differ from his ecclesiastical superiors : 
his disagreement with them occasioned him real sorrow; and his 
dearest hope was that they could be brought to his way of think- 
ing and embrace the truth. 

This condition of things could not go on. From February to 


June the suspense lasted. On June 20th he was summoned 
again, and told he would be wanted all next day for a rigorous 
examination. Early in the morning of the 21st he repaired 
thither, and the doors were shut. Out of those chambers of hor- 
ror he did not reappear till the 24th. What went on all those 
three days no one knows. He himself was bound to secrecy. 
No outsider was present. The records of the Inquisition are 
jealously guarded. That he was technically tortured is certain; 
that he actually underwent the torment of the rack is doubtful. 
Much learning has been expended upon the question, especially 
in Germany. Several eminent scholars have held the fact of act- 
ual torture to be indisputable — geometrically certain, one says — 
and they confirm it by the hernia from which he afterward suf- 
fered, this being a well-known and frequent consequence. 

Other equally learned commentators, however, deny that the 
last stage was reached. For there are five stages all laid down 
in the rules of the Inquisition, and steadily adhered to in a rigor- 
ous examination, at each stage an opportunity being given for 
recantation, every utterance, groan, or sigh being strictly recorded. 
The recantation so given has to be confirmed a day or two later, 
under pain of a precisely similar ordeal. 

The five stages are: (1) The official threat in the court; 
(2) the taking to the door of the torture- chamber and renewing 
the official threat ; (3) the taking inside and showing the instru- 
ments; (4) undressing and binding upon the rack; (5) territio 
realis. Through how many of these ghastly acts Galileo passed 
I do not know. I hope and believe not the last. 

There are those who lament that he did not hold out, and 
accept the crown of martyrdom thus offered to him. Had he 
done so we know his fate — a few years' languishing in the dun- 
geons, and then the flames. Whatever he ought to have done, he 
did not hold out — he gave way. At one stage or another of the 
dread ordeal he said : " I am in your hands. I will say whatever 
you wish." Then was he removed to a cell while his special 
form of perjury was drawn up. 

The next day, clothed as a penitent, the venerable old man 
was taken to the convent of Minerva, where the cardinals and 
prelates were assembled for the purpose of passing judgment 
upon him. 


The judgment sentences him: (i) To the abjuration, (2) to 
formal imprisonment for life, (3) to recite the seven penitential 
psalms every week. 

Ten cardinals were present; but, to their honor, be it said, 
three refused to sign; and this blasphemous record of intoler- 
ance and bigoted folly goes down the ages with the names of 
seven cardinals immortalized upon it. This having been read, 
he next had to read word for word the abjuration which had been 
drawn up for him, and then sign it. 


"I, Galileo Galilei, son of the late Vincenzo Galilei, of Flor- 
ence, aged seventy years, being brought personally to judgment, 
and knealing before your Most Eminent and Most Reverend 
Lords Cardinals, General Inquisitors of the universal Christian 
republic against heretical depravity, having before my eyes the 
Holy Gospels, which I touch with my own hands, swear that I 
have always believed, and now believe, and with the help of God 
will in future believe, every article which the Holy Catholic and 
Apostolic Church of Rome holds, teaches, and preaches. But 
because I have been enjoined by this Holy Office altogether to 
abandon the false opinion which maintains that the sun is the 
centre and immovable, and forbidden to hold, defend, or teach the 
said false doctrine in any manner, and after it hath been signified 
to me that the said doctrine is repugnant with the Holy Scripture, I 
have written and printed a book, in which I treat of the same doc- 
trine now condemned, and adduce reasons with great force in sup- 
port of the same, without giving any solution, and therefore have 
been judged grievously suspected of heresy; that is to say, that I 
held and believed that the sun is the centre of the universe and is 
immovable, and that the earth is not the centre and is movable; 
willing, therefore, to remove from the minds of your Eminences, 
and of every Catholic Christian, this vehement suspicion right- 
fully entertained toward me, with a sincere heart and unfeigned 
faith, I abjure, curse, and detest the said errors and heresies, and 
generally every other error and sect contrary to Holy Church; 
and I swear that I will never more in future say or assert anything 
verbally, or in writing, which may give rise to a similar suspicion 
of me; but if I shall know any heretic, or anyone suspected of 


heresy, that I will denounce him to this Holy Office, or to the 
Inquisitor or Ordinary of the place where I may be; I swear, 
moreover, and promise, that I will fulfil and observe fully, all the 
penances which have been or shall be laid on me by this Holy 
Office. But if it shall happen that I violate any of my said 
promises, oaths, and protestations (which God avert!), I subject 
myself to all the pains and punishments which have been decreed 
and promulgated by the sacred canons, and other general and 
particular constitutions, against delinquents of this description. 
So may God help me, and his Holy Gospels which I touch with 
my own hands. I, the above-named Galileo Galilei, have 
abjured, sworn, promised, and bound myself as above, and in 
witness thereof with my own hand have subscribed this present 
writing of my abjuration, which I have recited word for word. 
At Rome, in the Convent of Minerva, June 22, 1633. I, Galileo 
Galilei, have abjured as above with my own hand." 

Those who believe the story about his muttering to a friend, 
as he rose from his knees, "E pur si tnuove" (" And yet it does 
move"), do not realize the scene. 

There was no friend in the place. It would have been fatally 
dangerous to mutter anything before such an assemblage. He 
was by this time an utterly broken and disgraced old man ; wish- 
ful, of all things, to get away and hide himself and his miseries 
from the public gaze; probably with his senses deadened and 
stupefied by the mental sufferings he had undergone, and no 
longer able to think or care about anything — except perhaps 
his daughter — certainly not about any motion of this wretched 

Far and wide the news of the recantation spread. Copies of 
the abjuration were immediately sent to all universities, with 
instructions to the professors to read it publicly. At Florence, 
his home, it was read out in the cathedral church, all his friends 
and adherents being specially summoned to hear it. 

For a short time more he was imprisoned in Rome, but at 
length was permitted to depart, nevermore of his own will to 


A.D. 1638 


John Amos Comenius (1592-1671) is now generally recognized as the 
founder of modern education. Just what his work has been is best left 
to Mr. Laurie, the leading authority upon his life. What the schools 
were before his time is almost too dreary a picture to attempt to draw. 
Eveiy thing was hopelessly haphazard, almost hopelessly uninteresting. 
Only in the schools of the Jesuits was anything approaching skill em- 
ployed to stimulate the learner. If a child did not advance, the teacher 
held himself no way responsible. The lad was adjudged a dullard and 
left to remain in his stupidity with the rest of the blockhead world. 

The chief work of Comenius, the Didactica Magna, was probably fin- 
ished about 1638, and was shown in manuscript to many persons at that 
time. Its ideas as to education were widely accepted, and its influence 
and that of its author spread rapidly over much of Europe. The pub- 
lication of his works was delayed until 1657. 

T N the history of education it is important to recognize the ex- 
istence of the two parallel streams of intellectual and spiritual 
regeneration. The leaders of both, like the leaders of all great 
social changes, at once bethought themselves of the schools. 
Their hope was in the young, and hence the reform of education 
early engaged their attention. 

The improvements made in the grammar-schools under the 
influence of Melanchthon and Sturm, and in England of Colet 
and Ascham, did not endure, save in a very limited sense. Pure 
classical literature was now read — a great gain certainly, but this 
was all. There was no tradition of method, as was the case in 
the Jesuit order. During the latter half of the sixteenth century, 
the complaints made of the state of the schools, the waste of time, 
the barbarous and intricate grammar rules, the cruel discipline, 
were loud and long, and proceeded from men of the highest in- 
tellectual standing. To unity in the Reformed churches they 
looked, but looked in vain, for a settlement of opinion, and to the 



school they looked as the sole hope of the future. The school, 
as it actually existed, might have well filled them with despair. 

Even in the universities Aristotelian physics and metaphysics, 
and with them the scholastic philosophy, still held their own. 
The reforms initiated mainly by Melanchthon had not, indeed, 
contemplated the overthrow of Aristotelianism. He and the 
other humanists merely desired to substitute Aristotle himself 
in the original for the Latin translation from the Arabic, necessa- 
rily misleading, and the Greek and Latin classics for barbarous 
epitomes. These very reforms, however, perpetuated the reign 
of Aristotle, when the spirit that actuated the Reformers was 
dead, and there had been a relapse into the old scholasticism. 
The Jesuit reaction, also, which recovered France and South 
Germany for the papal see, was powerful enough to preserve 
a footing for the metaphysical theology of St. Thomas Aquinas 
and the schoolmen. In England, Milton was of opinion that the 
youth of the universities were, even so late as his time, still pre- 
sented with an " asinine feast of sow-thistles." These retro- 
gressions in school and university serve to show how exceedingly 
difficult it is to contrive any system of education, middle or upper, 
which will work itself when the contrivers pass from the scene. 
Hence the importance, it seems to us, of having in every universi- 
sity, as part of the philosophical faculty, a department for the 
exposition of this very question of education — surely a very im- 
portant subject in itself as an academic study, and in its practical 
relations transcending perhaps all others. How are the best 
traditions of educational theory and practice to be preserved and 
handed down if those who are to instruct the youth of the coun- 
try are to be sent forth to their work from our universities with 
minds absolutely vacant as to the principles and history of their 
profession — if they have never been taught to ask themselves the 
question, "What am I going to do?" "Why?" and "How?" 
This subject is one worthy of consideration both by the univer- 
sities and the state. It was the want of method that led to the 
decline of schools after the Reformation period ; it was the study 
of method which gave the Jesuits the superiority that on many 
parts of the Continent they still retain. 1 

1 Mr. Laurie's work was written in 188 1. Considerable changes have 
since been made along the lines which he suggests. 

E., VOL. XL — 13. 


In 1605 there appeared a book which was destined to place 
educational method on a scientific foundation, although its 
mission is not yet, it is true, accomplished. This was Francis 
Bacon's Advancement of Learning, which was followed some 
years later by the Organum. For some time the thoughts of men 
had been turning to the study of nature. Bacon represented 
this movement, and gave it the necessary impulse by his masterly 
survey of the domain of human knowledge, his pregnant sugges- 
tions, and his formulation of scientific method. Bacon was not 
aware of his relations to the science and art of education; he 
praises the Jesuit schools, not knowing that he was subverting 
their very foundations. We know inductively: that was the sum 
of Bacon's teaching. In the sphere of outer nature, the scholastic 
saying, "Nihil est in intellectu quod non prius juerit in sensu" 
was accepted, but with this addition, that the impressions on our 
senses were not themselves to be trusted. The mode of verify- 
ing sense-impressions, and the grounds of valid and necessary 
inference, had to be investigated and applied. It is manifest 
that if we can tell how it is we know, it follows that the method 
of intellectual instruction is scientifically settled. 

But Bacon not only represented the urgent longing for a co- 
ordination of the sciences and for a new method, he also repre- 
sented the weariness of words, phrases, and vain subtleties which 
had been gradually growing in strength since the time of Mon- 
taigne, Ludovicus Vives, and Erasmus. The poets, also, had 
been placing nature before the minds of men in a new aspect. 
The humanists, as we have said, while unquestionably improv- 
ing the aims and procedure of education, had been powerless to 
prevent the tendency to fall once more under the dominion of 
words, and to revert to mere form. The realism of human life 
and thought, which constituted their raison d'etre, had been un- 
able to sustain itself as a principle of action, because there was 
no school of method. It was the study of the realities of sense 
that was finally to place education on a scientific basis, and make 
reaction, as to method at least, impossible. 

The thought of any age determines the education of the age 
which is to succeed it. Education follows ; it does not lead. The 
school and the church alike march in the wake of science, phi- 
losophy, and political ideas. We see this illustrated in every 


epoch of human history, and in none so conspicuously as in the 
changes which occurred in the philosophy and education of 
ancient Rome during the b'fetime of the elder Cato, and in mod- 
ern times during the revival of letters and the subsequent rise of 
the Baconian induction. It is impossible, indeed, for any great 
movement of thought to find acceptance without its telling to 
some extent on every department of the body politic. Its in- 
fluence on the ideas entertained as to the education of the rising 
generation must be, above all, distinct and emphatic. Every 
philosophical writer on political science has recognized this, and 
has felt the vast significance of the educational system of a coun- 
try both as an effect — the consequence of a revolution in thought 
— and as a cause, a moving force of incalculable power in the 
future life of a commonwealth. Thus it was that the humanistic 
movement which preceded and accompanied the Reformation 
of religion shook to its centre the mediaeval school system of Eu- 
rope; and that subsequently the silent rise of the inductive spirit 
subverted its foundations. 

Bacon, though not himself a realist in the modern and 
abused sense of that term, was the father of realism. It was this 
side of his teaching which was greedily seized upon, and even 
exaggerated. Educational zeal now ran in this channel. The 
conviction of the churches of the time, that one can make men 
what one pleases — by fair means or foul — was shared by the 
innovators. By education, rightly conceived and rightly applied, 
the enthusiasts dreamed that they could manufacture men, and, 
in truth, the Jesuits had shown that a good deal could be done in 
this direction. The new enthusiasts failed to see that the genius 
of Protestantism is the genius of freedom, and that man refuses 
to be manufactured except on suicidal terms. He must first 
sacrifice that which is his distinctive title to manhood — his indi- 
viduality and will. That the prophets of educational realism 
should have failed to see this is not to be laid at their door as a 
fault ; it merely shows that they belonged to their own time, and 
not to ours. They failed then, as some fail now, to understand 
man and his education, because they break with the past. The 
record of the past is with them merely a record of blunders. The 
modern humanist more wisely accepts it as the storehouse of 
the thoughts and life of human reason. In the life of man each 


individual of the race best finds his own true life. This is mod- 
ern humanism — the realism of thought. 

Yet it is to the sense-realists of the earlier half of the seven- 
teenth century that we owe the scientific foundations of educa- 
tional method, and the only indication of the true line of answer 
to the complaints of the time. In their hands sense-realism 
became allied with Protestant theology, and pure humanism dis- 
appeared. They were represented first by Wolfgang von Ratich, 
a native of Holstein, born in 1571. Ratich was a man of con- 
siderable learning. The distractions of Europe, and the want of 
harmony, especially among the churches of the Reformation, led 
him to consider how a remedy might be found for many existing 
evils. He thought that the remedy was to be found in an im- 
proved school system — improved in respect both of the sub- 
stance and method of teaching. In 161 2, accordingly, he laid 
before the Diet of the German empire at Frankfort a memorial, 
in which he promised, "with the help of God, to give instruction 
for the service and welfare of all Christendom. " 

The torch that fell from Ratich's hand was seized, ere it 
touched the ground, by John Amos Comenius, who became the 
head, and still continues the head, of the sense-realistic school. 
His works have a present and practical, and not merely a his- 
torical and speculative, significance. 

Not only had the general question of education engaged many 
minds for a century and more before Comenius arose, but the 
apparently subsidiary, yet all-important, question of method, in 
special relation to the teaching of the Latin tongue, had occupied 
the thoughts and pens of many of the leading scholars of Europe. 
The whole field of what we now call secondary instruction was 
occupied with the one subject of Latin; Greek, and occasionally 
Hebrew, having been admitted only in the beginning of the six- 
teenth century, and then only to a subordinate place. This of 
necessity. Latin was the one key to universal learning. To 
give to boys the possession of this key was all that teachers aimed 
at until their pupils were old enough to study rhetoric and logic. 
Of these writers on the teaching of Latin, the most eminent were 
Sturm, Erasmus, Melanchthon, Lubinus, Vossius, Sanctius (the 
author of the Minerva), Ritter, Helvicus, Bodinus, Valentinus 
Andreae, and, among Frenchmen, Ccecilius Frey. Nor were 


Ascham and Mulcaster in England the least significant of the 
critics of method. Comenius was acquainted with almost all 
previous writers on education, except probably Ascham and Mul- 
caster, to whom he never alludes. He read everything that he 
could hear of with a view to find a method, and he does not 
appear ever to have been desirous to supersede the work of others. 
If he had found what he wanted, he would, we believe, have pro- 
mulgated it, and advocated it as a loyal pupil. That he owed 
much to the previous writers is certain; but the prime char- 
acteristic of his work on Latin was his own. Especially does he 
introduce a new epoch in education, by constructing a general 
methodology which should go beyond mere Latin, and be equally 
applicable to all subjects of instruction. 

Before bringing his thoughts into definite shape, he wrote to 
all the distinguished men to whom he could obtain access. He 
addressed Ratich, among others, but received no answer; many 
of his letters also were returned, because the persons addressed 
could not be found. Valentinus Andreae wrote to him in en- 
couraging terms, saying that he gladly passed on the torch to him. 
His mind became now much agitated by the importance of the 
question and by the excitement of discovery. He saw his whole 
scheme assuming shape under his pen, and was filled, like other 
zealous men, before and since, with the highest hopes of the 
benefits which he would confer on the whole human race by his 
discoveries. He resolved to call his treatise Didactica Magna, 
or Omnes omnia docendi Artificium. He found a consolation for 
his misfortunes in the work of invention, and even saw the hand 
of Providence in the coincidence of the overthrow of schools, 
through persecutions and wars, and those ideas of a new method 
which had been vouchsafed to him, and which he was elaborat- 
ing. Everything might now be begun anew, and untrammelled 
by the errors and prejudices of the past. 

Some scruples as to a theologian and pastor being so entirely 
preoccupied with educational questions he had, however, to over- 
come. " Suffer, I pray, Christian friends, that I speak confiden- 
tially with you for a moment. Those who know me intimately 
know that I am a man of moderate ability and of almost no 
learning, but one who, bewailing the evils of his time, is eager to 
remedy them, if this in any be granted me to do, either by my own 


discoveries or by those of another — none of which things can 
come save from a gracious God. If, then, anything be here found 
well done, it is not mine, but his, who from the mouths of babes 
and sucklings hath perfected praise, and who, that he may in 
verity show himself faithful, true, and gracious, gives to those 
who ask, opens to those who knock, and offers to those who seek. 
Christ my Lord knows that my heart is so simple that it matters 
not to me whether I teach or be taught, act the part of teacher of 
teachers or disciple of disciples. What the Lord has given me 
I send forth for the common good." His deepest conviction was 
that the sole hope of healing the dissensions of both church and 
state lay in the proper education of youth. 

When he had completed his Great Didactic, he did not pub- 
lish it, for he was still hoping to be restored to his native Moravia, 
where he proposed to execute all his philanthropic schemes; 
indeed, the treatise was first written in his native Slav or Czech 
tongue. In 1632 there was convened a synod of the Moravian 
Brethren at Lissa, at which Comenius, now forty years of age, 
was elected to succeed his father-in-law, Cyrillus, as bishop of 
the scattered brethren — a position which enabled him to be of 
great service, by means of correspondence, to the members of the 
community, who were dispersed in various parts of Europe. 
Throughout the whole of his long life he continued this fatherly 
charge, and seemed never quite to abandon the hope of being 
restored, along with his fellow- exiles, to his native land — a hope 
doomed to disappointment. In his capacity of pastor-bishop 
he wrote several treatises, such as a History of the Persecutions 
of the Brotherhood, an account of the Moravian Church disci- 
pline and order, and polemical tracts against a contemporary 

Meanwhile his great didactic treatise, which had been writ- 
ten in his native Czech tongue, was yet unpublished. He was, 
it would appear, stimulated to the publication of it by an invita- 
tion he received in 1638, from the authorities in Sweden, to visit 
their country and undertake the reformation of their schools. 
He replied that he was unwilling to undertake a task at once so 
onerous and so invidious, but that he would gladly give the bene- 
fit of his advice to anyone of their own nation whom they might 
select for the duty. These communications led him to resume 


his labor on the Great Didactic, and to translate it into Latin, in 
which form it finally appeared. 

Humanism, which had practically failed in the school, had, 
apart from this fact, no attractions for Comenius, and still less 
had the worldly wisdom of Montaigne. He was a leading Prot- 
estant theologian — a pastor and bishop of a small but earnest 
and devoted sect — and it was as such that he wrote on education. 
The best results of humanism could, after all, be only culture, 
and this not necessarily accompanied by moral earnestness or 
personal piety : on the contrary, probably dissociated from these, 
and leaning rather to scepticism and intellectual self-indul- 

At the same time it must be noted that he never fairly faced 
the humanistic question; he rather gave it the cold shoulder 
from the first. His whole nature pointed in another direction. 
When he has to speak of the great instruments of humanistic 
education — ancient classical writers — he exhibits great distrust 
of them, and, if he does not banish them from the school alto- 
gether, it is simply because the higher instruction in the Latin and 
Greek tongues is seen to be impossible without them. Even in 
the universities, as his pansophic scheme shows, he would have 
Plato and Aristotle taught chiefly by means of analyses and epit- 
omes. It might be urged in opposition to this view of the anti- 
humanism of Comenius, that he contemplated the acquisition 
of a good style in Latin in the higher stages of instruction : true, 
but in so far as he hid so, it was merely with a practical aim — 
the more effective, and, if need be, oratorical, enforcement of 
moral and religious truth. The beauties and subtleties of ar- 
tistic expression had little charm for him, nor did he set much 
store by the graces. The most conspicuous illustration of the 
absence of all idea of art in Comenius is to be found in his school 
drama. The unprofitable dreariness of that production would 
make a reader sick were he not relieved by a feeling of its ab- 

The educational spirit of the Reformers, the conviction that 
all — even the humblest — must be taught to know God, and Jesus 
Christ whom he has sent, was inherited by Comenius in its com- 
pleteness. In this way, and in this way only, could the ills of 
Europe be remedied and the progress of humanity assured. 


While, therefore, he sums up the educational aim under the three- 
fold heads of Knowledge, Virtue, and Piety or Godliness, he in 
truth has mainly in view the last two. Knowledge is of value 
only in so far as it forms the only sound basis, in the eyes of a 
Protestant theologian, of virtue and godliness. We have to train 
for a hereafter. 

In virtue and godliness Comenius did not propose to teach 
anything save what the Reformed religion taught. His char- 
acteristic merits in this department of instruction were : 

i. Morality and godliness were to be taught from the first. 
Parents and teachers were to begin to train at the beginning of 
)he child's conscious life. 

2. Parents and teachers were to give milk to babes, and re- 
serve the stronger meat for the adolescent and adult mind. They 
were to be content to proceed gradually, step by step. 

3. The method of procedure was not only to be adapted to the 
growing mind, but the mode of enforcement was to be mild, and 
the manner of it kind and patient. 

Had Comenius done nothing more than put forth and press 
home these truths he would have deserved our gratitude as an 

But he did more than this. He related virtue and godliness 
to knowledge. By knowledge Comenius meant knowledge of 
nature and of man's relation to nature. It is this important char- 
acteristic of Comenius' educational system that reveals the direct 
influence of Bacon and his school. To the great Verulam he 
pays reverence for what he owed him, but he owed him even 
more than he knew. 

In this field of knowledge, the leading characteristic of the 
educational system of Comenius is his realism. We have pointed 
out, in contradiction of the assumptions of the modern sensa- 
tionalist school, that the humanists were in truth realists, and 
it may be safely said that there can be no question among com- 
petent judges as to the realism which ought to characterize all 
rational and sound instruction. The question rather is as to the 
field in which the real is to be sought — in the mind of man, or in 
external nature. As the former may be called humanistic- 
realism, so the latter may be called sense- or naturalistic-real- 
ism. Of the latter, Comenius is the true founder, although his 


indebtedness to Ratich was great. Mere acquisition of the or- 
dered facts of nature, and man's relation to them, was with him 
the great aim — if not the sole aim — of all purely intellectual in- 
struction. And here there necessarily entered the governing 
idea, encyclopaedism or pansophism. Let all the sciences, he 
said, be taught in their elements in all schools, and more fully 
at each successive stage of the pupil's progress. It is by knowl- 
edge that we are what we are, and the necessary conclusion from 
this must be, let all things be taught to all. 

It is at this point that many will part company with Come- 
nius. The mind stored with facts, even if these be ordered facts, 
will not necessarily be much raised in the scale of humanity as an 
intelligence. The natural powers may be simply overweighted 
by the process, and the natural channels of spontaneous reason 
choked. In education, while our main business is to promote 
the growth of moral purpose and of a strong sense of duty, we 
have to support these by the discipline of intelligence, and by 
training to power and work rather than by information. On the 
other hand, only those who are ignorant of the history and the 
recognized results of education will wholly abjure realism in the 
Comenian sense; but it has to be assigned is own place, and 
nothing more than this, in the education of a human being. The 
sum of the matter seems to be this, that while a due place in all 
education is to be assigned to sense-realistic studies, especially 
in the earlier years of family and school life, the humanistic 
agencies must always remain the most potent in the making of a 

Comenius and his followers again confound knowledge with 
wisdom. He affirms that "all authors are to be banished from 
school except those that give a knowledge of useful things." 
Wisdom is certainly not to be opposed to knowledge, but it de- 
pends more on a man's power of discrimination, combination, 
and imagination than on the extent of his mental store of facts. 
Were it not so, our whole secondary education, and all the purely 
disciplinal part of our university instruction would be very far 
astray. If the ancient tongues are to be learned simply with a 
view to the sum of knowledge they contain, it would be absurd 
to waste the time of our youth over them. It would be better to 
impose on our universities the duty of furnishing guaranteed 


translations for the use of the public. We shall not, however, 
involve ourselves in controversy here, as our object is merely to 
point out, generally, the strong and weak points of our author. 

Next in importance to pansophy or encyclopaedism, and 
closely connected with it, is the principle that a knowledge of 
words and of things should go hand in hand. Words are to be 
learned through things. Properly interpreted, and under due 
limitations, this principle will, we presume, be now generally 
accepted. We say, under due limitations, because it is manifest 
that the converse preposition, that " things are learned through 
words," is easily capable of proof, and is indeed, in our opinion, 
the stronghold of humanistic teaching in its earlier or school 

It is in the department of method, however, that we recognize 
the chief contribution of Comenius to education. The mere 
attempt to systematize was a great advance. In seeking, how- 
ever, for foundations on which to erect a coherent system, he had 
had to content himself with first principles which were vague and 

Modern psychology was in its infancy, and Comenius had 
little more than the generalizations of Plato and Aristotle, and 
those not strictly investigated by him, for his guide. In training 
to virtue, moral truth and the various moralities were assumed as 
if they emerged full-blown in the consciousness of man. In 
training to godliness, again, Christian dogma was ready to his 
hand. In the department of knowledge, that is to say, knowl- 
edge of the outer world, Comenius rested his method on the 
scholastic maxim, "Nihil est in intellectu quod nonprius jueritin 
sensu." This maxim he enriched with the Baconian induction, 
comprehended by him, however, only in a general way. It was 
chiefly, however, the imagined harmony of physical and mental 
process that yielded his method. He believed that the process 
of the growth of external things had a close resemblance to the 
growth of the mind. Had he lived in these days he would doubt- 
less have endeavored to work out the details of his method on a 
purely psychological basis; but in the then state of psychology 
he had to find another thread through the labyrinth. The mode 
of demonstration which he adopted was thus, as he himself 
called it, the syncretic or analogical. Whatever may be said 


of the harmony that exists between the growth of nature and of 
mind, there can be no doubt that the observation of the former 
is capable of suggesting, if it does not furnish, many of the rules 
of educational method. 

From the simple to the complex, from the particular to the gen- 
eral, the concrete before the abstract, and all, step by step, and 
even by insensible degrees — these were among his leading prin- 
ciples of method. But the most important of all his principles 
was derived from the scholastic maxim quoted above. As all is 
from sense, let the thing to be known be itself presented to the 
senses, and let every sense be engaged in the perception of it. 
When it is impossible, from the nature of the case, to present the 
object itself, place a vivid picture of it before the pupil. The 
mere enumeration of these few principles, even if we drop out of 
view all his other contributions to method and school-manage- 
ment, will satisfy any man familiar with all the more recent 
treatises on education, that Comenius, even after giving his pre- 
cursors their due, is to be regarded as the true founder of modern 
method, and that he anticipates Pestalozzi and all of the same 

When we come to consider Comenius , method as applied 
specially to language, we recognize its general truth, and the 
teachers of Europe and America will now be prepared to pay it 
the homage of theoretical approval at least. To admire, how- 
ever, his own attempt at working out his linguistic method is im- 
possible, unless we first accept his encyclopaedism. The very 
faults with which he charged the school practices of the time are 
simply repeated by himself in a new form. The boy's mind is 
overloaded with a mass of words — the name and qualities of 
everything in heaven, on the earth, and under the earth. It was 
impossible that all these things, or even pictures of them, could 
be presented to sense, and hence his books must have inflicted a 
heavy burden on the merely verbal memory of boys. We want 
children to grow into knowledge, not to swallow numberless facts 
made up into boluses. Again, the amount that was to be acquired 
within a given time was beyond the youthful capacity. Any 
teacher will satisfy himself of this who will simply count the words 
and sentences in the Janua and Orbis of Comenius, and then try 
to distribute these over the schooltime allowed them. Like all 


reformers, Comenius was oversanguine. I do not overlook the 
fact that command over the Latin tongue as a vehicle of ex- 
pression was necessary to those who meant to devote themselves 
to professions and to learning, and that Comenius had his justi- 
fication for introducing a mass of vocables now wholly useless to 
the student of Latin. But even for his own time, Comenius, 
under the influence of his encyclopaedic passion, overdid his task. 
His real merits in language-teaching lie in the introduction of the 
principle of graduated reading-books, in the simplification of 
Latin grammar, in his founding instruction in foreign tongues on 
the vernacular, and in his insisting on method in instruction. But 
these were great merits, too soon forgotten by the dull race of 
schoolmasters, if, indeed, they were ever fully recognized by 
them till quite recent times. 

Finally, Comenius' views as to the inner organization of a 
school were original, and have proved themselves in all essen- 
tial respects correct. 

The same may be said of his scheme for the organization of a 
state system — a scheme which is substantially, mutatis mutandis, 
at this moment embodied in the highly developed system of Ger- 

When we consider, then, that Comenius first formally and 
fully developed educational method, that he introduced impor- 
tant reforms into the teaching of languages, that he introduced 
into schools the study of nature, that he advocated with intelli- 
gence, and not on purely sentimental grounds, a milder dis- 
cipline, we are justified in assigning to him a high, if not the 
highest, place among modern educational writers. The volumi- 
nousness of his treatises, their prolixity, their repetitions, and their 
defects of styles have all operated to prevent men studying him. 
The substance of what he has written has been, I believe, faith- 
fully given by me, but it has not been possible to transfer to these 
pages the fervor, the glow, and the pious aspirations of the good 
old bishop. 





A.D. 1639-1643 


That a colonizing people should, almost at the moment of their arrival 
in a new home, proceed to enact the fundamental law of a civil state is a 
remarkable fact in history. The manner in which this was done in Con- 
necticut, and the character of the constitution there made in 1639, six 
years after the first English settlement, render it a memorable event in 
the development of American government. 

As the Connecticut Constitution was not only the first instrument of 
its kind, but also formed, in many respects, a pattern for others which 
became the organic laws of American States, so the first union of colo- 
nies, in 1643, is important not alone as being the first, but also as fore- 
shadowing the later confederation and the final union of the States them- 

This model of an American union, following so closely upon the ear- 
liest creation of an American civil constitution, is concisely described by 
the great Chief Justice Marshall. 


\A/E read, in treatises upon elementary law, of a time antece- 
dent to all law, when men theoretically are said to have 
met together and surrendered a part of their rights for a more 
secure enjoyment of the remainder. Hence, we are told, human 
governments date their origin. This dream of the enthusiast as 
applied to ages past, in Connecticut for the first time and upon 
the American soil became a recorded verity. 

Here at last we are permitted to look on and see the founda- 
tions of a political structure laid. We can count the workmen, 
and we have become familiar with the features of the master- 
builders. We see that they are most of them men of a new type. 
Bold men they are, who have cut loose from old associations, old 



prejudices, old forms; men who will take the opinions of no 
man unless he can back them up with strong reasons; clear- 
sighted, sinewy men, in whom the intellect and the moral nature 
predominate over the more delicate traits that mark an advanced 
stage of social life. Such men as these will not, however, in their 
zeal to cast off old dominions, be solicitous to free themselves 
and their posterity from all restraint ; for no people are less given 
up to the sway of unbridled passions. Indeed, they have made 
it a main part of their business in life to subdue their passions. 
Laws, therefore, they must and will have, and laws that, what- 
ever else they lack, will not want the merit of being fresh and 

As it has been, and still is, a much debated question, what 
kind of men they were — some having overpraised and others 
rashly blamed them — let us, without bigotry, try if we cannot 
look at them through a medium that shall render them to us in 
all their essential characteristics as they were. That medium is 
afforded us by the written constitution that they made of their 
own free will for their own government. This is said to give the 
best portrait of any people; though in a nation that has been 
long maturing, the compromise between the past and present, 
written upon almost every page of its history, cannot have failed 
in some degree to make the likeness dim. Yet, of such a people 
as we are describing, who may be said to have no past, who live 
not so much in the present as in the future, and who forge as 
with one stroke the constitution that is to be a basis of their laws 
— are we not provided with a mirror that reflects every linea- 
ment with the true disposition of light and shade? If it is a 
stern, it is yet a truthful, mirror. It flatters neither those who 
made it nor those blear-eyed maskers, who, forgetful of their 
own distorted visages, look in askance, and are able to see noth- 
ing to admire in the sober, bright-eyed faces of their fathers who 
gaze down upon them from the olden time. 

The preamble of this constitution begins by reciting the fact 
that its authors are, "under Almighty God, inhabitants and 
residents of Windsor, Hartford, and Wethersfield, upon the 
river of Connecticut." It also states that, in consonance with 
the word of God, in order to maintain the peace and union of 
such a people, it is necessary that "there should be an orderly 


and decent government established," that shall " dispose of the 
affairs of the people at all seasons." " We do therefore," say they, 
" associate and conjoin ourselves to be as one public state or 
commonwealth." They add, further, that the first object aimed 
at by them is to preserve the liberty and the purity of the gospel 
and the discipline of their own churches; and, in the second 
place, to govern their civil affairs by such rules as their written 
constitution and the laws enacted under its authority shall pre- 
scribe. To provide for these two objects — the liberty of the Gos- 
pel, as they understood it, and the regulation of their own civil 
affairs, they sought to embody in the form of distinct decrees, 
substantially the following provisions : 

1. That there shall be every year two general assemblies or 
courts, one on the second Thursday of April, the other on the 
second Thursday of September; that the one held in April shall 
be called the court of election, wherein shall be annually chosen 
the magistrates — one of whom shall be the governor — and other 
public officers, who are to administer justice according to the 
laws here established ; where there are no laws provided to doit 
in accordance with the laws of God ; and that these rulers shall 
be elected by all the freemen within the limits of the common- 
wealth, who have been admitted inhabitants of the towns 
where they severally live, and who have taken the oath of fidel- 
ity to the new state; and that they shall all meet at one place to 
hold this election. 

2. It is provided that after the voters have all met and are 
ready to proceed to an election, the first officer to be chosen shall 
be a governor, and after him a body of magistrates and other 
officers. Every voter is to bring in, to those who are appointed 
to receive it, a piece of paper with the name of him whom he 
would have for governor written upon it, and he that has the 
greatest number of papers with his name written upon them 
was to be governor for that year. The other magistrates were 
elected in the following manner. The names of all the candidates 
were first given to the secretary for the time being, and written 
down by him, in the order in which they were given ; the secre- 
tary was then to read the fist over aloud and severally nominate 
each person whose name was so written down, in its order, in a 
distinct voice, so that all the citizen voters could hear it. As 


each name was read, they were to vote by ballot, either for or 
against it, as they liked; those who voted in favor of the nomi- 
nee did it by writing his name upon the ballot — those who voted 
against him simply gave in a blank ballot ; and those only were 
elected whose names were written upon a majority of all the pa- 
per ballots handed in under each nomination. These papers 
were to be received and counted by sworn officers appointed by 
the court for that purpose. Six magistrates, besides the governor, 
were to be elected in this way. If they failed to elect so many 
by a majority vote, then the requisite number was to be filled up 
by taking the names of those who had received the highest num- 
ber of votes. 

3. The men thus to be nominated and balloted for were to 
be propounded at some general court held before the court of 
election, the deputies of each town having the privilege of nomi- 
nating any two whom they chose. Other nominations might be 
made by the court. 

4. No person could be chosen governor oftener than once in 
two years. It was requisite that this officer should be a member 
of an approved congregation, and that he should be taken from 
the magistrates of the commonwealth. But no qualification was 
required in a candidate for the magistracy, except that he should 
be chosen from the freemen. Both governor and magistrates 
were required to take a solemn oath of office. 

5. To this court of election the several towns were to send 
their deputies, and after the elections were over the court was 
to proceed, as at other courts, to make laws or do whatever was 
necessary to further the interests of the commonwealth. 

6. These two regular courts were to be convened by the gov- 
ernor himself, or by his secretary, by sending out a warrant to the 
constables of every town, a month at least before the day of ses- 
sion. In times of danger or public exigency the governor and a 
majority of the magistrates might order the secretary to sum- 
mon a court, with fourteen days* notice, or even less, if the case 
required it, taking care to state their reasons for so doing to the 
deputies when they met. If, on the other hand, the governor 
should neglect to call the regular courts, or, with the major part 
of the magistrates, should fail to convene such special ones as 
were needed, then the freemen, or a major part of them, were 


required to petition them to do it. If this did not serve, then the 
freemen, or a majority of them, were clothed with the power to 
order the constables to summon the court, after which they might 
meet, choose a moderator, and do any act that it was lawful for 
the regular courts to do. 

7. On receiving the warrants for these general courts the con- 
stables of each town were to give immediate notice to the free- 
men, either at a public gathering or by going from house to 
house, that at a given place and time they should meet to elect 
deputies to the general court, about to convene, and "to agi- 
tate the affairs of the commonwealth." These deputies were to 
be chosen by vote of the electors of the town who had taken the 
oath of fidelity; and no man not a freeman was -eligible to the 
office of deputy. The deputies were to be chosen by a major 
vote of all the freemen present, who were to make their choice by 
written paper ballots — each voter giving in as many papers as 
there were deputies to be chosen, with a single name written on 
each paper. The names of the deputies when chosen were in- 
dorsed by the constables, on the back of their respective war- 
rants, and returned into court. 

8. The three towns of the commonwealth were each to have 
the privilege of sending four deputies to the general court. If 
other towns were afterward added to the jurisdiction, the num- 
ber of their deputies was to be fixed by the court. The deputies 
represented the towns, and could bind them by their votes in all 
legislative matters. 

9. The deputies had power to meet after they were chosen 
and before the session of the general court, to consult for the 
public good, and to examine whether those who had been re- 
turned as members of their own body were legally elected. If 
they found any who were not so elected, they might seclude them 
from their assembly, and return their names to the court, with 
their reasons for so doing. The court, on finding these reasons 
valid, could issue orders for a new election, and impose a fine 
upon such men as had falsely thrust themselves upon the towns 
as candidates. 

10. Every regular general court was to consist of the governor 
and at least four other magistrates, with the major part of the 
deputies chosen from the several towns. But if any court hap- 

E., VOL. xi. — 14. 


pened to be called by the freemen, through the default of the 
governor and magistrates, that court was to consist of a ma- 
jority of the freemen present, or their deputies, and a moderator, 
chosen by them. In the general court was lodged the " supreme 
power oj the commonwealth." In this court the governor or mod- 
erator had power to command liberty of speech, to silence all 
disorders, and to put all questions that were to be made the sub- 
ject of legislative action, but not to vote himself unless the court 
was equally divided, when he was to give the casting vote. But 
he could not adjourn or dissolve the court without the major vote 
of the members. Taxes also were to be ordered by the court; 
and when they had agreed upon the sum to be raised, a committee 
was to be appointed of an equal number of men from each town 
to decide what part of that sum each town should pay. 

This first constitution of the New World was simple in its 
terms, comprehensive in its policy, methodical in its arrange- 
ment, beautiful in its adaptation of parts to a whole, of means 
to an end. Compare it with any of the constitutions of the Old 
World then existing. I say nothing of those libels upon human 
nature, the so-called constitutions of the Continent of Europe 
— compare it reverently, as children speak of a father's roof, 
with that venerated structure, the British Constitution. How 
complex is the architecture of the latter! here exhibiting the 
clumsy work of the Saxon, there the more graceful touch of later 
conquerors; the whole colossal pile, magnificent with turrets 
and towers, and decorated with armorial devices and inscrip- 
tions, written in a language not only dead, but never native to 
the island ; all eloquent, indeed, with the spirit of ages past, yet 
haunted with the cry of suffering humanity and the clanking of 
chains that come up from its subterranean dungeons. 

Mark, too, the rifts and seams in its gray walls — traces of 
convulsion and revolution. Proud as it is, its very splendor 
shows the marks of a barbarous age. Its tapestry speaks a lan- 
guage dissonant to the ears of freemen. It tells of exclusive 
privileges, of divine rights, not in the people, but in the king, of 
primogeniture, of conformities, of prescriptions, of serfs and 
lords, of attainder that dries up like a leprosy the fountains of 
inheritable blood ; and, lastly, it discourses of the rights of British 
subjects, in eloquent language, but sometimes with qualifications 


that startle the ears of men who have tasted the sweets of a more 
enlarged liberty. Such was the spirit of the British Constitution, 
and code of the seventeenth century. I do not blame it that it 
was not better; perhaps it could not then have been improved 
without risk. Improvement in an old state is the work of time. 
But I have a right to speak with pride of the more advanced free- 
dom of our own. 

The Constitution of Connecticut sets out with the practical 
recognition of the doctrine that all ultimate power is lodged with 
the people. The body of the people is the body politic. From 
the people flow the fountains of law and justice. The governor 
and the other magistrates, the deputies themselves, are but a 
kind of committee, with delegated powers to act for the free 
planters. Elected from their number, they must spend their 
short official term in the discharge of the trust, and then descend 
to their old level of citizen voters. Here are to be no intermina- 
ble parliaments. The majority of the general court can adjourn 
it at will. Nor is there to be an indefinite prorogation of the Leg- 
islature at the will of a single man. Let the governor and the 
magistrates look to it. If they do not call a general court, the 
planters will take the matter into their own hands and meet in 
a body to take care of their neglected interests. 

One of the most striking features in this new and at the same 
time strange document is that it will tolerate no rotten-bor- 
ough system. Every deputy who goes to the Legislature is to go 
from his own town, and is to be a free planter of that town. In 
this way he will know what is the will of his constituents and 
what their wants are. 

This paper has another remarkable trait. There is to be no 
taxation without representation in Connecticut. The towns, 
too, are recognized as independent municipalities. They are the 
primary centres of power older than the constitution — the mak- 
ers and builders of the State. They have given up to the State a 
part of their corporate powers, as they received them from the 
free planters, that they may have a safer guarantee for the keep- 
ing of the rest. Whatever they have not given up they hold in 
absolute right. 

How strange, too, that in defining so carefully and astutely 
the limits of the government, these constitution-makers should 


have forgotten the King. One would but suppose that those who 
indited this paper were even aware of the existence of titled maj- 
esty beyond what belonged to the King of kings. They mention 
no supreme power save that of the commonwealth, which speaks 
and acts through the general court. 

Such was the Constitution of Connecticut. I have said it was 
the oldest of the American constitutions. More than this, I 
might say, it is the mother of them all. It has been modified in 
different States to suit the circumstances of the people and the 
size of their respective territories; but the representative system 
peculiar to the American republics was first unfolded by Lud- 
low — who probably drafted the Constitution of Connecticut — 
and by Hooker, Haynes, Wolcott, Steele, Sherman, Stone, and 
the other far-sighted men of the colony, who must have advised 
and counselled to do what they and all the people in the three 
towns met together in a mass to sanction and adopt as their own. 
Let me not be understood to say that I consider the framers of 
this paper perfect legislators or in all respects free from bigotry 
and intolerance. How could they throw off in a moment the 
shackles of custom and old opinion ? They saw more than two 
centuries beyond their own era. England herself at this day has 
only approximated, without reaching, the elevated table-land of 
constitutional freedom, whose pure air was breathed by the ear- 
liest planters of Connecticut. Under this constitution they passed, 
it is true, some quaint laws, that sometimes provoke a smile, and, 
in those who are unmindful of the age in which they lived, some- 
times a sneer. 

I shall speak of these laws in order, I hope with honesty and 
not too much partiality. It may be proper to say here, however, 
that for one law that has been passed in Connecticut of a big- 
oted or intolerant character, a diligent explorer into the English 
court records or statute-books for evidences of bigotry and re- 
volting cruelty could find twenty in England. " Kings have been 
dethroned," says Bancroft, the eloquent American historian, 
"recalled, dethroned again, and so many constitutions framed 
or formed, stifled or subverted, that memory may despair of a 
complete catalogue; but the people of Connecticut have found 
no reason to deviate essentially from the government as estab- 
lished by their fathers. History has ever celebrated the com- 


manders of armies on which victory has been entailed, the he- 
roes who have won laurels in scenes of carnage and rapine. Has 
it no place for the founders of states, the wise legislators who 
struck the rock in the wilderness, and the waters of liberty 
gushed forth in copious and perennial fountains?" 


About this period many evidences were given of a general 
combination of the neighboring Indians against the settlements 
of New England; and apprehensions were also entertained of 
hostility from the Dutch of Manhadoes. A sense of impending 
danger suggested the policy of forming a confederacy of the sis- 
ter-colonies for their mutual defence. And so confirmed had the 
habit of self-government become since the attention of England 
was absorbed in her domestic dissensions that it was not thought 
necessary to consult the parent state on this important meas- 
ure. After mature deliberation articles of confederation were di- 
gested; and in May, 1643, they were conclusively adopted. 

By them "The United Colonies of New England" — Massa- 
chusetts, Plymouth, Connecticut, and New Haven — entered into 
a firm and perpetual league, offensive and defensive. 

Each colony retained a distinct and separate jurisdiction ; no 
two colonies could join in one jurisdiction without the consent 
of the whole ; and no other colony could be received into the con- 
federacy without the like consent. 

The charge of all wars was to be borne by the colonies re- 
spectively, in proportion to the male inhabitants of each be- 
tween sixteen and sixty years of age. 

On notice of an invasion given by three magistrates of any 
colony, the confederates were immediately to furnish their re- 
spective quotas. These were fixed at one hundred from Massa- 
chusetts, and forty-five from each of the other parties to the 
agreement. If a larger armament should be found necessary, 
commissioners were to meet and ascertain the number of men 
to be required. 

Two commissioners from each government, being church 
members, were to meet annually on the first Monday in Septem- 
ber. Six possessed the power of binding the whole. Any meas- 
ure approved by a majority of less than six was to be referred to 


the general court of each colony, and the consent of all was nec- 
essary to its adoption. 

They were to choose annually a president from their own 
body, and had power to frame laws or rules of a civil nature and 
of general concern. Of this description were rules which re- 
spected their conduct toward the Indians, and measures to be 
taken with fugitives from one colony to another. 

No colony was permitted, without the general consent, to en- 
gage in war, but in sudden and inevitable cases. 

If, on any extraordinary meeting of the commissioners, their 
whole number should not assemble, any four who should meet 
were empowered to determine on a war, and to call for the re- 
spective quotas of the several colonies, but not less than six could 
determine on the justice of the war or settle the expenses or levy 
the money for its support. 

If any colony should be charged with breaking an article of 
the agreement, or with doing an injury to another colony, the 
complaint was to be submitted to the consideration and deter- 
mination of the commissioners of such colonies as should be dis- 

This union, the result of good-sense and of a judicious con- 
sideration of the real interests of the colonies, remained in force 
until their charters were dissolved. Rhode Island, at the in- 
stance of Massachusetts, was excluded; and her commissioners 
were not admitted into the congress of deputies, which formed 
the confederation. 



A.D. 1641 


Before the accession of Charles I, in 1625, the separation between the 
Church of England and the Puritans, which had been slowly widening 
for half a century, had become so serious as to be a menace to the peace- 
ful stability of the kingdom. Charles began his reign with repressive 
measures against the Puritan influences. His use of the Star-chamber 
and similar tribunals is an important subject of study in connection with 
the preliminary steps on both sides which led at last to the great civil 

From the first, Charles aimed at despotic power, which he was wont 
to seek in "dark and crooked ways." The House of Commons stood 
against him on the popular side. He dissolved his first Parliament and 
levied taxes by his own will ; dissolved another Parliament, and did the 
same, adding other acts of usurpation and oppression. His third Parlia- 
ment showed increased opposition to his methods, and accordingly he 
decided to change them. The Parliament passed (1628) the Petition of 
Right, the second English Magna Charta, and Charles ratified it. By 
this act the King was bound to raise no more moneys without consent of 
Parliament, not to imprison anyone contrary to law, not to billet the 
military in private houses, and to subject none to martial law. From 
1629 to 1640 Charles governed without a parliament, replenishing his ex- 
chequer by various extraordinary means. 

In the following accounts of the previous workings of the Star-cham- 
ber, Charles' star-chamber methods, his illegal procedures, nis violations 
of the Petition of Rights, and of the consequent changes in the relations 
of his person and government to the people, a very significant period of 
transition in English history is summarized by the ablest hands. 


^HE levies of tonnage and poundage without authority of Par- 
liament; the exaction of monopolies; the extension of the 
forests; the arbitrary restraints of proclamations; above all, 
the general exaction of ship-money, form the principal articles 



of charge against the government of Charles, so far as relates 
to its inroads on the subject's property. These were maintained 
by a vigilant and unsparing exercise of jurisdiction in the Court 
of Star-chamber. It was the great weapon of executive power 
under Elizabeth and James; nor can we reproach the present 
reign with innovation in this respect, though in no former period 
had the proceedings of this court been accompanied with so 
much violence and tyranny. But this will require some fuller 

I hardly need remind the reader that the jurisdiction of the 
ancient Concilium Regis Ordinarium, or Court of Star-chamber, 
continued to be exercised, more or less frequently, notwithstand- 
ing the various statutes enacted to repress it; and that it neither 
was supported by the act erecting a new court in the 3d of Henry 
VII nor originated at that time. The records show the Star- 
chamber to have taken cognizance both of civil suits and of 
offences throughout the time of the Tudors. But precedents of 
usurped power cannot establish a legal authority in defiance 
of the acknowledged law. It appears that the lawyers did not 
admit any jurisdiction in the council, except so far as the statute 
of Henry VII was supposed to have given it. "The famous 
Plowden put his hand to a demurrer to a bill," says Hudson, 
" because the matter was not within the statute; and, although 
it was then overruled, yet Mr. Sergeant Richardson, thirty years 
after, fell again upon the same rock, and was sharply rebuked 
for it. " The chancellor, who was the standing president of the 
Court of Star-chamber, would always find pretences to elude the 
existing statutes, and justify the usurpation of this tribunal. 

The civil jurisdiction claimed and exerted by the Star-cham- 
ber was only in particular cases, as disputes between alien mer- 
chants and Englishmen, questions of prize or unlawful detention 
of ships, and, in general, such as now belong to the court of 
admiralty; some testamentary matters, in order to prevent ap- 
peals to Rome, which might have been brought from the ecclesias- 
tical courts; suits between corporations, a of which," says Hud- 
son, " I dare undertake to show above a hundred in the reigns of 
Henry VII and Henry VIII, or sometimes between men of great 
power and interest, which could not be tried with fairness by the 
common law"; for the corruption of sheriffs and juries fur- 


nished an apology for the irregular, but necessary, interference 
of a controlling authority. The ancient remedy, by means of 
attaint, which renders a jury responsible for an unjust verdict, 
was almost gone into disuse, and, depending on the integrity of 
a second jury, not always easy to be obtained; so that in many 
parts of the kingdom, and especially in Wales, it was impossible 
to find a jury who would return a verdict against a man of good 
family, either in a civil or criminal proceeding. 

The statutes, however, restraining the council's jurisdiction, 
and the strong prepossession of the people as to the sacredness 
of freehold rights, made the Star-chamber cautious of deter- 
mining questions of inheritance, which they commonly remitted 
to the judges ; and from the early part of Elizabeth's reign they 
took a direct cognizance of any civil suits less frequently than 
before, partly, I suppose, from the increased business of the 
court of chancery and the admiralty court, which took away 
much wherein they had been wont to meddle, partly from their 
own occupation as a court of criminal judicature, which be- 
came more conspicuous as the other went into disuse. This 
criminal jurisdiction is that which rendered the Star-chamber 
so potent and so odious an auxiliary of a despotic administra- 

The offences principally cognizable in this court were forgery, 
perjury, riot, maintenance, fraud, libel, and conspiracy. But, 
besides these, every misdemeanor came within the proper scope 
of its inquiry; those especially of public importance, and for 
which the law, as then understood, had provided no sufficient 
punishment; for the judges interpreted the law in early times 
with too great narrowness and timidity, defects which, on the 
one hand, raised up the overruling authority of the court of 
chancery as the necessary means of redress to the civil suitor 
who found the gates of justice barred against him by technical 
pedantry, and on the other, brought this usurpation and tyr- 
anny of the Star-chamber upon the kingdom by an absurd scru- 
pulosity about punishing manifest offences against the public 

Thus corruption, breach of trust and malfeasance in public 
affairs, attempts to commit felony, seem to have been reckoned 
not indictable at common law, and came, in consequence, under 


the cognizance of the Star-chamber. In other cases its juris- 
diction was merely concurrent; but the greater certainty of con- 
viction and the greater severity of punishment rendered it incom- 
parably more formidable than the ordinary benches of justice. 
The law of libel grew up in this unwholesome atmosphere, and 
was moulded by the plastic hands of successive judges and attor- 
neys-general. Prosecutions of this kind, according to Hudson, 
began to be more frequent from the last years of Elizabeth, 
when Coke was attorney-general; and it is easy to conjecture 
what kind of interpretation they received. To hear a libel sung 
or read, says that writer, and to laugh at it and make merri- 
ment with it, have ever been held a publication in law. The 
groos error that it is not a libel if it be true, has long since, he 
adds, been exploded out of this court. 

Among the exertions of authority practised in the Star-cham- 
ber which no positive law could be brought to warrant he enu- 
merates "punishments of breach of proclamations before they 
have the strength of an act of Parliament; which this court hath 
stretched as far as ever any act of Parliament did. As in the 
41st of Elizabeth, builders of houses in London were sentenced, 
and their houses ordered to be pulled down, and the materials 
to be distributed to the benefit of the parish where the building 
was; which disposition of the goods soundeth as a great extrem- 
ity, and beyond the warrant of our laws; and yet, surely, very 
necessary, if anything would deter men from that horrible mis- 
chief of increasing that head which is swollen to a great hugeness 
already. " 

The mode of process was sometimes of a summary nature; 
the accused person being privately examined, and his examina- 
tion read in court, if he was thought to have confessed sufficient 
to deserve sentence, it was immediately awarded without any 
formal trial or written process. But the more regular course 
was by information filed at the suit of the attorney-general or, 
in certain cases, of a private relator. The party was brought 
before the court by writ of subpoena, and, having given bond, 
with sureties not to depart without leave, was to put in his 
answer upon oath, as well to the matters contained in the infor- 
mation as to special interrogatories. Witnesses were examined 
upon interrogatories, and their depositions read in court. The 


course of proceeding, on the whole, seems to have nearly resem- 
bled that of the chancery. 

It was held competent for the court to adjudge any punish- 
ment short of death. Fine and imprisonment were of course 
the most usual. The pillory, whipping, branding, and cutting 
off the ears grew into use by degrees. In the reigns of Henry 
VII and Henry VIII, we are told by Hudson, the fines were not 
so ruinous as they have been since, which he ascribes to the 
number of bishops who sat in the court, and inclined to mercy, 
"and I can well remember," says he, "that the most reverend 
Archbishop Whitgift did ever constantly maintain the liberty of 
the free charter, that men ought to be fined, salvo contenemento. 
But they have been of late imposed according to the nature of the 
offence, and not the estate of the person. The slavish punish- 
ment of whipping, " he proceeds to observe, "was not introduced 
till a great man of the common law, and otherwise a worthy 
justice, forgot his place of session, and brought it in this place 
too much in use." It would be difficult to find precedents for 
the aggravated cruelties inflicted on Leighton, Lilburne, and 
others ; but instances of cutting off the ears may be found under 

The reproach, therefore, of arbitrary and illegal jurisdiction 
does not wholly fall on the government of Charles. They found 
themselves in possession of this almost unlimited authority. 
But doubtless, as far as the history of proceedings in the Star- 
chamber are recorded, they seem much more numerous and 
violent in the present reign than in the two preceding. Rush- 
worth has preserved a copious selection of cases determined 
before this tribunal. They consist principally of misdemeanors, 
rather of an aggravated nature, such as disturbances of the pub- 
lic peace, assaults accompanied with a good deal of violence, 
conspiracies, and libels. The necessity, however, for such a 
paramount court to restrain the excesses of powerful men no 
longer existed, since it can hardly be doubted that the common 
administration of the law was sufficient to give redress in the 
time of Charles I, though we certainly do find several instances 
of violence and outrage by men of a superior station in life, 
which speak unfavorably for the state of manners in the king- 


But the object of drawing so large a number of criminal 
cases into the Star-chamber seems to have been twofold : first, 
to inure men's minds to an authority more immediately con- 
nected with the crown than the ordinary courts of law and less 
tied down to any rules of pleading or evidence ; secondly, to eke 
out a scanty revenue by penalties and forfeitures. Absolutely 
regardless of the provision of the Great Charter, that no man 
shall be amerced even to the full extent of his means, the coun- 
sellors of the Star-chamber inflicted such fines as no court of 
justice, even in the present reduced value of money, would 
think of imposing. Little objection, indeed, seems to lie, in a 
free country, and with a well-regulated administration of justice, 
against the imposition of weighty pecuniary penalties, due con- 
sideration being had of the offence and the criminal. But, 
adjudged by such a tribunal as the Star-chamber, where those 
who inflicted the punishment reaped the gain, and sat, like 
famished birds of prey, with keen eyes and bended talons, eager 
to supply for a moment by some wretch's ruin, the craving empti- 
ness of the exchequer, this scheme of enormous penalties became 
more dangerous and subversive of justice, though not more odi- 
ous, than corporal punishment. 

A gentleman of the name of Allington was fined twelve thou- 
sand pounds for marrying his niece. One, who had sent a chal- 
lenge to the Earl of Northumberland, was fined five thousand 
pounds ; another for saying the Earl of Suffolk was a base lord, 
four thousand pounds to him, and a like sum to the King. Sir 
David Forbes, for opprobrious words against Lord Went worth, 
incurred five thousand pounds to the King and three thousand 
pounds to the party. On some soap-boilers, who had not com- 
plied with the requisitions of the newly incorporated company, 
mulcts were imposed of one thousand five hundred pounds and 
one thousand pounds. One man was fined and set in the pillory 
for engrossing corn, though he only kept what grew on his own 
land, asking more in a season of dearth than the overseers of 
the poor thought proper to give. Some arbitrary regulations 
with respect to prices may be excused by a well-intentioned 
though mistaken policy. The charges of inns and taverns were 
fixed by the judges; but even in those a corrupt motive was 
sometimes blended. The company of vintners, or victuallers, 


having refused to pay a demand of the lord-treasurer, one penny 
a quart for all wine drunk in their houses, the Star-chamber, 
without information filed or defence made, interdicted them 
from selling or dressing victuals till they submitted to pay forty 
shillings for each tun of wine to the King. 

It is evident that the strong interest of the court in these 
fines must not only have had a tendency to aggravate the punish- 
ment, but to induce sentences of condemnation on inadequate 
proof. From all that remains of proceedings in the Star-chamber, 
they seem to have been very frequently as iniquitous as they 
were severe. In many celebrated instances, the accused party 
suffered less on the score of any imputed offence than for having 
provoked the malice of a powerful adversary, or for notorious 
dissatisfaction with the existing government. Thus Williams, 
Bishop of Lincoln, once lord-keeper the favorite of King James, 
the possessor for a season of the power that was turned against 
him, experienced the rancorous and ungrateful malignity of 
Laud, who, having been brought forward by Williams into the 
favor of the court, not only supplanted by his intrigues, and 
incensed the King's mind against his benefactor, but harassed 
his retirement by repeated persecutions. It will sufficiently il- 
lustrate the spirit of these times to mention that the sole offence 
imputed to the Bishop of Lincoln in the last information against 
him in the Star-chamber was that he had received certain letters 
from one Osbaldiston, master of Westminster school, wherein 
some contemptuous nickname was used to denote Laud. 

It did not appear that Williams had ever divulged these let- 
ters; but it was held that the concealment of a libellous letter 
was a high misdemeanor. Williams was therefore adjudged 
to pay five thousand pounds to the King and three thousand 
to the Archbishop, to be imprisoned during pleasure, and to 
make a submission ; Osbaldiston to pay a still heavier fine, to be 
deprived of all his benefices, to be imprisoned and make sub- 
mission, and, moreover, to stand in the pillory before his school 
in Dean's yard, with his ears nailed to it. This man had the 
good fortune to conceal himself; but the Bishop of Lincoln, re- 
fusing to make the required apology, lay about three years in 
the Tower, till released at the beginning of the Long Parlia- 


It might detain me too long to dwell particularly on the pun- 
ishments inflicted by the Court of Star-chamber in this reign. 
Such historians as have not written in order to palliate the tyr- 
anny of Charles, and especially Rushworth, will furnish abundant 
details, with all those circumstances that portray the barbar- 
ous and tyrannical spirit of those who composed that tribunal. 
Two or three instances are so celebrated that I cannot pass them 
over. Leighton, a Scots divine, having published an angry li- 
bel against the hierarchy, was sentenced to be publicly whipped 
at Westminster and set in the pillory, to have one side of his nose 
slit, one ear cut off, and one side of his cheek branded with a hot 
iron ; to have the whole of this repeated the next week at Cheap- 
side, and to suffer perpetual imprisonment in the Fleet. Lil- 
burne, for dispersing pamphlets against the bishops, was whipped 
from the Fleet prison to Westminster, there set in the pillory, 
and treated afterward with great cruelty. Prynne, a lawyer of 
uncommon erudition and a zealous Puritan, had printed a bulky 
volume, called Histriomastix, full of invectives against the the- 
atre, which he sustained by a profusion of learning. In the 
course of this he adverted to the appearance of courtesans on 
the Roman stage, and, by a satirical reference in his index, seemed 
to range all female actors in the class. The Queen, unfortu- 
nately, six weeks after the publication of Prynne' s book, had per- 
formed a part in a mask at court. This passage was accord- 
ingly dragged to light by the malice of Peter Heylin, a chaplain 
of Laud, on whom the Archbishop devolved the burden of read- 
ing this heavy volume in order to detect its offences. 

Heylin, a bigoted enemy of everything Puritanical, and not 
scrupulous as to veracity, may be suspected of having aggra- 
vated, if not misrepresented, the tendency of a book much more 
tiresome than seditious. Prynne, however, was already obnox- 
ious, and the Star-chamber adjudged him to stand twice in the 
pillory, to be branded in the forehead, to lose both his ears, to 
pay a fine of five thousand pounds, and to suffer perpetual 
imprisonment. The dogged Puritan employed the leisure of a 
jail in writing a fresh libel against the hierarchy. For this, with 
two other delinquents of the same class, Burton a divine, and 
Bastwick a physician, he stood again at the bar of that terrible 
tribunal. Their demeanor was what the court deemed intoler- 


ably contumacious, arising, in fact, from the despair of men who 
knew that no humiliation would procure them mercy. Prynne 
lost the remainder of his ears in the pillory ; and the punishment 
was inflicted on them all with extreme and designed cruelty, 
which they endured, as martyrs always endure suffering, so he- 
roically as to excite a deep impression of sympathy and resent- 
ment in the assembled multitude. They were sentenced to per- 
petual confinement in distant prisons. But their departure from 
London and their reception on the road were marked by sig- 
nal expressions of popular regard; and their friends resorting 
to them even in Launceston, Chester, and Carnarvon castles, 
whither they were sent, an order of council was made to trans- 
port them to the isles of the Channel. 

It was the very first act of the Long Parliament to restore 
these victims of tyranny to their families. Punishments by mu- 
tilation, though not quite unknown to the English law, had 
been of rare occurrence; and thus inflicted on men whose sta- 
tion appeared to render the ignominy of whipping and brand- 
ing more intolerable, they produced much the same effect as the 
still greater cruelties of Mary's reign, in exciting a detestation 
of that ecclesiastical dominion which protected itself by means 
so atrocious. 


Now commenced a new era. Many English kings had occa- 
sionally committed unconstitutional acts; but none had ever 
systematically attempted to make himself a despot, and to reduce 
the Parliament to a nullity. Such was the end which Charles 
distinctly proposed to himself. From March, 1629, to April, 
1640, the Houses were not convoked. Never in our history had 
there been an interval of eleven years between Parliament and 
Parliament. Only once had there been an interval of even half 
that length. This fact alone is sufficient to refute those who 
represent Charles as having merely trodden in the footsteps of 
the Plantagenets and Tudors. 

It is proved, by the testimony of the King's most strenuous 
supporters, that, during this part of his reign, the provisions of 
the Petition of Right were violated by him, not occasionally, but 
constantly, and on system; that a large part of the revenue was 


raised without any legal authority; and that persons obnoxious 
to the government languished for years in prison, without being 
ever called upon to plead before any tribunal. 

For these things history must hold the King himself chiefly 
responsible. From the time of his third Parliament he was his 
own prime minister. Several persons, however, whose temper 
and talents were suited to his purposes, were at the head of differ- 
ent departments of the administration. 

Thomas Wentworth, successively created Lord Wentworth 
and Earl of Strafford, a man of great abilities, eloquence, and 
courage, but of a cruel and imperious nature, was the counsellor 
most trusted in political and military affairs. He had been one 
of the most distinguished members of the opposition, and felt 
toward those whom he had deserted that peculiar malignity 
which has, in all ages, been characteristic of apostates. He 
perfectly understood the feelings, the resources, and the policy 
of the party to which he had lately belonged, and had formed 
a vast and deeply meditated scheme which very nearly con- 
founded even the able tactics of the statesmen by whom the 
House of Commons had been directed. To this scheme, in his 
confidential correspondence, he gave the expressive name of 

His object was to do in England all, and more than all, that 
Richelieu was doing in France : to make Charles a monarch as 
absolute as any on the Continent ; to put the estates and the per- 
sonal liberty of the whole people at the disposal of the crown ; to 
deprive the courts of law of all independent authority, even in 
ordinary questions of civil right between man and man; and to 
punish with merciless rigor all who murmured at the acts of the 
government, or who applied, even in the most decent and regular 
manner, to any tribunal for relief against those acts. 

This was his end; and he distinctly saw in what mannei 
alone this end could be attained. There was, in truth, about all 
his notions a clearness, a coherence, a precision, which, if he had 
not been pursuing an object pernicious to his country and to his 
kind, would have justly entitled him to high admiration. He 
saw that there was one instrument, and only one, by which his 
vast and daring projects could be carried into execution. That 
instrument was a standing army. To the forming of such an 


army, therefore, he directed all the energy of his strong mind. 
In Ireland, where he was viceroy, he actually succeeded in estab- 
lishing a military despotism, not only over the aboriginal popu- 
lation, but also over the English colonists, and was able to boast 
that, in that island, the King was as absolute as any prince in the 
whole world could be. 

The ecclesiastical administration was, in the mean time, prin- 
cipally directed by William Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
Of all the prelates of the Anglican Church, Laud had departed 
furthest from the principles of the Reformation and had drawn 
nearest to Rome. His theology was more remote than even 
that of the Dutch Arminians from the theology of the Calvinists. 
His passion for ceremonies, his reverence for holidays, vigils, 
and sacred places, his ill-concealed dislike of the marriage of 
ecclesiastics, the ardent and not altogether disinterested zeal 
with which he asserted the claims of the clergy to the reverence 
of the laity, would have made him an object of aversion to the 
Puritans, even if he had used only legal and gentle means for 
the attainment of his ends. But his understanding was narrow; 
and his commerce with the world had been small. He was by 
nature rash, irritable, quick to feel for his own dignity, slow to 
sympathize with the sufferings of others, and prone to the error, 
common in superstitious men, of mistaking his own peevish and 
malignant moods for emotions of pious zeal. 

Under his direction every corner of the realm was subjected 
to a constant and minute inspection. Every little congregation 
of Separatists was tracked out and broken up. Even the devo- 
tions of private families could not escape the vigilance of his spies. 
Such fear did his rigor inspire that the deadly hatred of the 
Church, which festered in innumerable bosoms, was generally 
disguised under an outward show of conformity. On the very 
eve of troubles, fatal to himself and to his order, the bishops of 
several extensive dioceses were able to report to him that not a 
single dissenter was to be found within their jurisdiction. 

The tribunals afforded no protection to the subject against 
the civil and ecclesiastical tyranny of that period. The judges 
of the common law, holding their situations during the pleasure 
of the King, were scandalously obsequious. Yet, obsequious as 
they were, they were less ready and less efficient instruments of 
e., vol. xi.— 15. 


arbitrary power than a class of courts the memory of which is 
still, after the lapse of more than two centuries, held in deep 
abhorrence by the nation. Foremost among these courts in 
power and in infamy were the Star-chamber and the High Com- 
mission, the former a political, the latter a religious, inquisition. 
Neither was a part of the old constitution of England. The 
Star-chamber had been remodelled, and the High Commission 
created, by the Tudors. 

The power which these boards had possessed before the 
accession of Charles had been extensive and formidable, but had 
been small indeed when compared with that which they now 
usurped. Guided chiefly by the violent spirit of the primate, 
and freed from the control of Parliament, they displayed a rapac- 
ity, a violence, a malignant energy, which had been unknown 
to any former age. The government was able through their 
instrumentality, to fine, imprison, pillory, and mutilate without 
restraint. A separate council which sat at York, under the 
presidency of Wentworth, was armed, in defiance of law, by a 
pure act of prerogative, with almost boundless power over the 
northern counties. All these tribunals insulted and defied the 
authority of Westminster hall, and daily committed excesses 
which the most distinguished royalists have warmly condemned. 
We are informed by Clarendon that there was hardly a man of 
note in the realm who had not personal experience of the harsh- 
ness and greediness of the Star-chamber, that the High Com- 
mission had so conducted itself that it had scarce a friend left in 
the kingdom, and that the tyranny of the Council of York had 
made the Great Charter a dead letter on the north of the Trent. 

The government of England was now, in all points but one, 
as despotic as that of France. But that one point was all-impor- 
tant. There was still no standing army. There was therefore 
no security that the whole fabric of tyranny might not be sub- 
verted in a single day; and if taxes were imposed by the royal 
authority for the support of an army, it was probable that there 
would be an immediate and irresistible explosion. This was 
the difficulty which more than any other perplexed Wentworth. 
The Lord Keeper Finch, in concert with other lawyers who were 
employed by the government, recommended an expedient which 
was eagerly adopted. The ancient princes of England, as they 


called on the inhabitants of the counties near Scotland to arm 
and array themselves for the defence of the border, had some- 
times called on the maritime counties to furnish ships for the 
defence of the coast. In the room of ships, money had some- 
times been accepted. This old practice it was now determined, 
after a long interval, not only to revive, but to extend. Former 
princes had raised ship-money only in time of war : it was now 
exacted in a time of profound peace. Former princes, even in 
the most perilous wars, had raised ship-money only along the 
coasts: it was now exacted from the inland shires. Former 
princes had raised ship-money only for the maritime defence of 
the country : it was now exacted, by the admission of the royal- 
ists themselves, with the object, not of maintaining a navy, but 
of furnishing the King with supplies which might be increased 
at his discretion to any amount, and expended at his discretion 
for any purpose. 

The whole nation was alarmed and incensed. John Hamp- 
den, an opulent and well-born gentleman of Buckinghamshire, 
highly considered in his own neighborhood, but as yet little 
known to the kingdom generally, had the courage to step for- 
ward, to confront the whole power of the government, and take 
on himself the cost and the risk of disputing the prerogative 
to which the King laid claim. The case was argued before the 
judges in the exchequer chamber. So strong were the argu- 
ments against the pretensions of the crown that, dependent and 
servile as the judges were, the majority against Hampden was 
the smallest possible. Still there was a majority. The inter- 
preters of the law had pronounced that one great and produc- 
tive tax might be imposed by the royal authority. Wentworth 
justly observed that it was impossible to vindicate their judg- 
ment except by reasons directly leading to a conclusion which 
they had not ventured to draw. . If money might legally be 
raised without the consent of Parliament for the support of a 
fleet, it was not easy to deny that money might, without con- 
sent of Parliament, be legally raised for the support of an army. 

The decision of the judges increased the irritation of the 
people. A century earlier, irritation less serious would have 
produced a general rising. But discontent did not now so 
readily, as in an earlier age, take the form of rebellion. The 


nation had been long steadily advancing in wealth and in civili- 
zation. Since the great northern earls took up arms against 
Elizabeth seventy years had elapsed; and during those seventy 
years there had been no civil war. Never, during the whole 
existence of the English nation, had so long a period passed 
without intestine hostilities. Men had become accustomed to 
the pursuits of peaceful industry, and, exasperated as they were, 
hesitated long before they drew the sword. 

This was the conjuncture at which the liberties of the nation 
were in the greatest peril. The opponents of the government 
began to despair of the destiny of their country; and many 
looked to the American wilderness as the only asylum in which 
they could enjoy civil and spiritual freedom. There a few reso- 
lute Puritans, who, in the cause of their religion, feared neither 
the rage of the ocean nor the hardships of uncivilized life, neither 
the fangs of savage beasts nor the tomahawks of more savage 
men, had built, amid the primeval forests, villages which are 
now great and opulent cities, but which have, through every 
change, retained some trace of the character derived from their 
founders. The government regarded these infant colonies with 
aversion, and attempted violently to stop the stream of emigra- 
tion, but could not prevent the population of New England from 
being largely recruited by stout-hearted and God-fearing men 
from every part of the old England. And now Wentworth exulted 
in the near prospect of Thorough. A few years might probably 
suffice for the execution of his great design. If strict economy 
were observed, if all collision with foreign powers were carefully 
avoided, the debts of the crown would be cleared off: there would 
be funds available for the support of a large military force; and 
that force would soon break the refractory spirit of the nation. 

At this crisis an act of insane bigotry suddenly changed the 
whole face of public affairs. Had the King been wise, he would 
have pursued a cautious and soothing policy toward Scotland 
till he was master in the South. For Scotland was of all his 
kingdoms that in which there was the greatest risk that a spark 
might produce a flame, and that a flame might become a confla- 
gration. The government had long wished to extend the Angli- 
can system over the whole island, and had already, with this view, 
made several changes highly distasteful to every Presbyterian. 


One innovation, however, the most hazardous of all, because it 
was directly cognizable by the senses of the common people, 
had not yet been attempted. The public worship of God was 
still conducted in the manner acceptable to the nation. Now, 
however, Charles and Laud determined to force on the Scots 
the English liturgy, or rather a liturgy which, wherever it dif- 
fered from that of England, differed, in the judgment of all rigid 
Protestants, for the worse. 

To this step, taken in the mere wantonness of tyranny, and 
in criminal ignorance or more criminal contempt of public feel- 
ing, England owes her freedom. The first performance of the 
foreign ceremonies produced a riot. The riot rapidly became 
a revolution. Ambition, patriotism, fanaticism, were mingled 
in one headlong torrent. The whole nation was in arms. The 
power of England was, indeed, as appeared some years later, 
sufficient to coerce Scotland; but a large part of the English peo- 
ple sympathized with the religious feelings of the insurgents, and 
many Englishmen who had no scruple about antiphonies and gen- 
uflexions, altars and surplices, saw with pleasure the progress of a 
rebellion which seemed likely to confound the arbitrary projects 
of the court and to make the calling of a parliament necessary. 

For the senseless freak which had produced these effects 
Wentworth is not responsible. It had, in fact, thrown all his 
plans into confusion. To counsel submission, however, was not 
in his nature. An attempt was made to put down the insurrec- 
tion by the sword; but the King's military means and military 
talents were unequal to the task. To impose fresh taxes on 
England in defiance of law would, at this conjuncture, have been 
madness. No resource was left but a Parliament; and in the 
spring of 1640 a parliament was convoked. 

The nation had been put into good humor by the prospect 
of seeing constitutional government restored and grievances 
redressed. The new House of Commons was more temperate 
and more respectful to the throne than any which had sat since 
the death of Elizabeth. The moderation of this assembly has 
been highly extolled by the most distinguished royalists, and 
seems to have caused no small vexation and disappointment 
to the chiefs of the opposition ; but it was the uniform practice of 
Charles — a practice equally impolitic and ungenerous — to refuse 


all compliances with the desires of his people, till those desires 
were expressed in a menacing tone. As soon as the Commons 
showed a disposition to take into consideration the grievances 
under which the country had suffered during eleven years, the 
King dissolved the Parliament with every mark of displeasure. 

Between the dissolution of this short-lived assembly and the 
meeting of that ever-memorable body known by the name of 
the Long Parliament, intervened a few months, during which 
the yoke was pressed down more severely than ever on the nation, 
while the spirit of the nation rose up more angrily than ever 
against the yoke. Members of the House of Commons were 
questioned by the privy council touching their parliamentary 
conduct, and thrown into prison for refusing to reply. Ship- 
money was levied with increased rigor. The lord mayor and 
the sheriffs of London were threatened with imprisonment for 
remissness in collecting the payments. Soldiers were enlisted by 
force. Money for their support was exacted from their counties. 
Torture, which had always been illegal, and which had recently 
been declared illegal even by the servile judges of that age, was 
inflicted for the last time in England in the month of May, 1640. 

Everything now depended on the event of the King's mili- 
tary operations against the Scots. Among his troops there was 
little of that feeling which separates professional soldiers from 
the mass of a nation and attaches them to their leaders. His 
army, composed for the most part of recruits, who regretted the 
plough from which they had been violently taken, and who were 
imbued with the religious and political sentiments then prevalent 
throughout the country, was more formidable to himself than to 
the enemy. The Scots, encouraged by the heads of the English 
opposition, and feebly resisted by the English forces, marched 
across the Tweed and the Tyne, and encamped on the borders 
of Yorkshire. And now the murmurs of discontent swelled into 
an uproar by which all spirits save one were overawed. But 
the voice of Strafford was still for Thorough ; and he even, in this 
extremity, showed a nature so cruel and despotic that his own 
pikemen were ready to tear him in pieces. 

There was yet one last expedient which, as the King flat- 
tered himself, might save him from the misery of facing another 
House of Commons. To the House of Lords he was less averse. 


The bishops were devoted to him; and though the temporal 
peers were generally dissatisfied with his administration, they 
were, as a class, so deeply interested in the maintenance of order 
and in the stability of ancient institutions that they were not 
likely to call for extensive reforms. Departing from the uninter- 
rupted practice of centuries, he called a great council consisting 
of lords alone. But the lords were too prudent to assume the 
unconstitutional functions with which he wished to invest them. 
Without money, without credit, without authority even in his 
own camp, he yielded to the pressure of necessity. 

In November, 1640, met that renowned Parliament which, 
in spite of many errors and disasters, is justly entitled to the 
reverence and gratitude of all who, in any part of the world, enjoy 
the blessings of constitutional government. 

During the year which followed, no very important division 
of opinion appeared in the Houses. The civil and ecclesiastical 
administration had, through a period of nearly twelve years, 
been so oppressive and so unconstitutional that even those classes 
of which the inclinations are generally on the side of order and 
authority were eager to promote popular reforms and to bring 
the instruments of tyranny to justice. It was enacted that no 
interval of more than three years should ever elapse between 
Parliament and Parliament, and that, if writs under the great 
seal were not issued at the proper time, the returning officers 
should, without such writs, call the constituent bodies together 
for the choice of representatives. The Star-chamber, the High 
Commission, the Council of York were swept away. Men who, 
after suffering cruel mutilations, had been confined in remote 
dungeons regained their liberty. On the chief ministers of the 
crown the vengeance of the nation was unsparingly wreaked. 
The lord keeper, the primate, the lord lieutenant were impeached. 
Finch saved himself by flight. Laud was flung into the Tower. 
Strafford was put to death, beheaded by act of attainder. On 
the day on which this act passed, the King gave his assent to a 
law by which he bound himself not to adjourn, prorogue, or dis- 
solve the existing Parliament without its own consent. 


A.D. 1642 


The history of Montreal dates back to October, 1535, when Jacques 
Cartier first landed on the island. An Indian village, called Hochelaga, 
existed here at this time. Its outline was circular; and it was encom- 
passed by three rows of palisades, or rather picket fences, one within the 
other, well secured and put together. A single entrance was left in this 
rude fortification, but guarded with pikes and stakes, and every precau- 
tion taken against siege or attack. Cartier named the place Mount 
Royal, from the elevation that rose in rear of the site, a little way back 
from the river St. Lawrence. It first began to be settled by Europeans 
in 1542, and exactly one century afterward the spot destined for the city 
was, with due solemnities, consecrated at the era of Maissoneuve and 
named Ville Marie, a designation which it retained for a long period. In 
1760 it was taken by the English. Since then it has taken great leaps in 
the way of progress until to-day it is the chief commercial city in Canada 
and the largest city in the Dominion. Montreal has the further ad- 
vantage, in its natural situation, of being at the head of ocean naviga- 
tion. Its population to-day, including suburbs, is in the neighborhood of 

(^)N the death of Champlain (on December 25, 1635), M. de 
Montmagny was appointed governor of New France; but 
so little attention was paid to the wants of the colony that its 
prosperity was much retarded, the fur trade alone being con- 
ducted with any spirit. But great vigor was manifested in relig- 
ious matters and several institutions were erected. In 1630 the 
Hotel Dieu, at Quebec, was founded by three nuns sent out by the 
Duchesse d'Aiguillon, and Madame de la Peltrie brought out 
from France at her own charge another body of nuns, who estab- 
lished the Ursuline convent. The peopling and fortifying of the 
island of Montreal, with the view of repressing the incursions 
of the Iroquois and the conversion of the Indians, had occupied 
the entire attention of the first missionaries, and in 1640 the whole 
of this domain was ceded to a company for that purpose. 



Jerome le Royer de la Dauversiere, a collector of taxes at La 
Fl£che, in Anjou, and a young priest of Paris, Jean Jacques Olier 
by name, having met each other, formed the idea of establishing 
at Montreal three religious communities : one of priests to con- 
vert the Indians, one of nuns to nurse the sick, and one of nuns 
to teach the children of the Indians and of the colonists. It 
was an easy matter to talk over these plans ; but, in order to carry 
them out, they must first raise some money. For this purpose 
Olier laid the matter before some of his wealthy penitents, while 
Dauversiere succeeded in securing the Baron de Fanchamp, a 
devout Christian and a wealthy man, who, considering the enter- 
prise as one calculated to further his spiritual interests, was eager 
to take part in it. Shortly afterward three others were secured, 
and the six together formed the germ of the "Societe de Notre 
Dame de Montreal." Among them they raised seventy-five thou- 
sand livres. 

Previous to this the island of Montreal had been granted to 
M. de Lauson, a former president of the Company of One Hun- 
dred Associates, and his son possessed the exclusive monopoly 
of the fisheries on [the St. Lawrence. After much persuasion 
Dauversiere and Fanchamp succeeded in securing from him a 
transfer of his title to them; and to make the matter more secure 
they obtained, in addition, a grant of the island from its former 
owners, the Hundred Associates. That company, however, re- 
served the western extremity of the island for themselves, as a 
site for a fort and stores. The younger Lauzon also gave Dau- 
versiere and his company the right of fishery within two leagues 
of the shores of the island, which favor they were to acknowledge 
by a yearly donation of ten pounds of fish. These grants were 
afterward confirmed by the King, and thus Dauversiere and his 
companions became "Lords of the Isle of Montreal." 

They now proceeded to mature their plan, which was to send 
out forty men to take possession of Montreal, intrench them- 
selves, and raise crops, after which they would build houses for 
the priests and convents for the nuns. It was necessary, how- 
ever, that some competent person should be secured who should 
take command of the expedition and act as governor of the newly 
acquired isle. To fill this important position it was desirable 
that to the qualities of the statesman should be added the cour- 


age of the soldier. One in whom these were combined was 
found in the person of Paul de Chomedey, Sieur de Maison- 
neuve, a devout Christian, an able statesman, and a valiant soldier. 
Maisonneuve at once accepted the position, while many wealthy 
ladies contributed toward defraying the expense of the under- 
taking and also became members of the "Association of Mont- 
real." In February, 1641, the Associates, with Olier at their 
head, assembled in the Church of Notre Dame at Paris, and be- 
fore the altar of the Virgin "solemnly consecrated Montreal to 
the Holy Family" and to be called "Ville-Marie de Mont- 

Maisonneuve with his party, forty-five in number, reached 
Quebec too late to ascend the river. On their arrival at that 
place they were received with jealousy and distrust. The agents 
of the Company of One Hundred Associates looked on them with 
suspicion, and Montmagny, the Governor, feared a rival in 
Maisonnenve. Every opposition was thrown in their way, and 
Montmaguy tried to persuade Maisonneuve to exchange the 
island of Montreal for that of Orleans. But Maisonneuve was 
not to be deceived, and he expressed his determination to found 
a colony at Montreal, "even if every tree on the island was an 

During the winter Maisonneuve employed his men in various 
labors for the future benefit of the colony, but principally in 
building a boat in which to ascend the river. While staying at 
Quebec the party gained an unexpected addition to their num- 
bers in the person of Madame de la Peltrie, who joined them, and 
took with her all the furniture she had lent the Ursulines. 

On May 8, 1642, Maisonneuve embarked from St. Michael, 
and on the 17th his little flotilla, a pinnace, a fiat-bottomed craft 
moved by sails, and two row-boats, approached Montreal, and 
all on board raised in unison a hymn of praise. Montmagny was 
there to deliver the island, on behalf of the Company of One 
Hundred Associates; while here, too, was Father Vimont, supe- 
rior of the missions. On the following day they glided along the 
green and solitary shores, now thronged with the life of a busy 
city, and landed on the spot which Champlain, thirty-one years 
before, had chosen as the fit site of a settlement. It was a tongue 
or triangle of land, formed by the junction of a rivulet with the 


St. Lawrence. This rivulet was bordered by a meadow, and 
beyond rose the forest with its vanguard of scattered trees. 
Early spring flowers were blooming in the young grass, and the 
birds flitted among the boughs. 

Maisonneuve sprang ashore and fell on his knees. His fol- 
lowers imitated his example ; and all joined their voices in songs 
of thanksgiving. Tents, baggage, arms, and stores were landed. 
Here were the ladies with their servants ; Montmagny, no will- 
ing spectator; and Maisonneuve, a warlike figure, erect and 
tall, his men clustering around him — soldiers, sailors, artisans, 
and laborers — all alike soldiers at need. They kneeled in rev- 
erent silence as the host was raised aloft; and when the rite 
was over the priest turned and addressed them: "You are a 
grain of mustard- seed that shall rise and grow until its branches 
overshadow the land. You are few, but your work is the work of 
God. His smile is on you, and your children shall fill the land." 
Then they pitched their tents, lighted their fires, stationed their 
guards, and lay down to rest. Such was the birthnight of Mont- 
real. The following morning they proceeded to form their 
encampment, the first tree being felled by Maisonneuve. They 
worked with such energy that by the evening they erected a 
strong palisade, and had covered their altar with a roof formed 
of bark. It was some time after their arrival before their ene- 
mies, the Indians, were made aware of it, and they improved the 
time by building some substantial houses and in strengthening 
their fortifications. 

The activity and zeal of Maisonneuve induced him to make 
a voyage to France to obtain assistance for his settlement. 
Though his difficulties were great, he yet was enabled to induce 
one hundred men to join his little establishment on the island. 
Notwithstanding this addition to his force, the progress of the 
colony was greatly retarded by the frequent attacks of the Ind- 
ians. These enemies soon became a cause of great trouble to 
the colonists, and it was dangerous to pass beyond the palisades, 
as the Indians would hide for days, waiting to assail any unfort- 
unate straggler. Although Maisonneuve was brave as man 
could be, he knew that his company was no match for the wily 
enemy, owing to their ignorance of the mode of Indian warfare ; 
therefore he kept his men as near the fort as possible. They, 


however, failed to appreciate his care of them, and imputed it to 
cowardice. This led him to determine that such a feeling 
should not exist if he could possibly remove it. He therefore 
ordered his men to prepare to attack the Indians, at the same time 
signifying his intention to lead them himself. He sallied forth 
at the head of thirty men, leaving D'Aillebout with the remainder 
to hold the fort. After they had waded through the snow for 
some distance they were attacked by the Iroquois, who killed 
three of his men and wounded several others. Maisonneuve and 
his party held their ground until their ammunition began to fail, 
and then he gave orders to retreat, he himself remaining till the 
last. The men struggled on for some time facing the enemy, but 
finally they broke their ranks and retreated in great disorder tow- 
ard the fort. Maisonneuve, with a pistol in each hand, held the 
Iroquois in check for some time. They might have killed him, 
but they wished to take him prisoner. Their chief, desiring this 
honor, rushed forward, but just as he was about to grasp him 
Maisonneuve fired and he fell dead. The Indians, fearing that 
the body of their chief would fall into the hands of the French, 
rushed forward to secure it, and Maisonneuve passed safely into 
the fort. From that day his men never dared to impute coward- 
ice to him. 

In 1644 the island of Montreal was made over to the Sul- 
picians of Paris, and was destined for the support of that religious 
order. In 1658 Viscount d'Argenson was appointed governor 
of Canada, but the day he landed the Iroquois murdered some 
Algonquin Indians under the very guns of Quebec. The Indians 
seemed determined to exterminate the French. In addition to 
keeping Quebec in a state little short of actual siege, they mas- 
sacred a large number of the settlers at Montreal. D ' Argenson hav- 
ing resigned, the Baron d'Avagnon was appointed governor (1661), 
and on his arrival visited the several settlements throughout the 
country. He was surprised to find them in such a deplorable 
condition, and made such representation to the King, as to the 
neglect of the Company of One Hundred Associates, that M. de 
Monts, the King's commissioner, was ordered to visit Canada 
and report on its condition. At the same time four hundred 
more troops were added to the colonial garrison. The arrival 
of these troops gave life and confidence to the colonists and re- 


lieved Montreal from its dangers. The representations made 
by M. de Monts, as well as those of the Bishop of Quebec, deter- 
mined Louis XIV to demand their charter from the Company of 
One Hundred Associates and to place the colony in immediate 
connection with the crown. As the profits of the fur trade had 
been much diminished by the hostility of the Iroquois, the com- 
pany readily surrendered its privileges. As soon as the transfer 
was completed, D'Avagnon was recalled and M. de Mesy was 
appointed governor for three years. Canada was thus changed 
into a royal government, and a council of state was nominated 
to cooperate with the Governor in the administration of affairs. 
This council consisted of the Governor, the Bishop of Quebec, 
and the intendant, together with four others to be named by 
them, one of whom was to act as attorney- general. 



A.D. 1643 


Official recognition of Presbyterianism in Great Britain marked a 
distinct departure in ecclesiastical affairs. The Westminster Assembly, 
whose confession and catechisms, while not accepted in England, be- 
came, and still remain, the doctrinal standards of the Scotch and Ameri- 
can Presbyterian churches, was one of the most important religious 
convocations ever held. The Presbyterian form of church government 
has been adopted by various sects, whose representatives are found in 
many parts of the world. 

The great object of the Westminster Assembly was to dictate, dog- 
matically, articles of faith and a form of worship that should be compul- 
sory. It was mainly owing to the influence of Oliver Cromwell, who 
stood for toleration and independence, within limits, that the assembly 
did not have its way. 

Masson, the great authority on this subject, gives in the following 
pages a clear and comprehensive account of the religious situation in 
Great Britain at the time, of the composition of the assembly, and of its 
labors during the five years and more of its continuance. 

A T the time of the meeting of the Westminster Assembly there 
was a tradition in the Puritan mind of England of two va- 
rieties of opinions as to the form of church government or disci- 
pline that should be substituted for episcopacy. 

In the first place there was a tradition of the system of views 
known as Presbyterianism. From the beginning of Elizabeth's 
reign, if not earlier, there had been Nonconformists who held 
that some form of the consistorial model which Calvin had set 
up in Geneva, and which Knox enlarged for Scotland, was the 
best for England, too. Thus Fuller, who dates the use of the 
term "Puritans," as a nickname for the English Nonconform- 
ists generally, from the year 1564, and who goes on to say that 
within a few years after that date the chief of those to whom that 



term was first applied were either dead or very aged, adds: 
''Behold, another generation of active and zealous Nonconform- 
ists succeeded them : of these Coleman, Button, Halingham, and 
Benson (whose Christian names I cannot recover) were the 
chief; inveighing against the established church discipline, ac- 
counting everything from Rome that was not from Geneva, en- 
deavoring in all things to conform the government of the Eng- 
lish Church to the Presbyterian Reformation. " 

Actually, in 1572, Fuller proceeds to tell us, a presbytery, the 
first in England, was set up at Wandsworth in Surrey; i.e., in 
that year a certain number of ministers of the Church of England 
organized themselves privately, without reference to bishops or 
other authorities, into a kind of presbyterial consistory, or classi- 
cal court, for the management of the church business of their 
neighborhood. The heads of this Presbyterian movement, 
which gradually extended itself to London, were Mr. Field, 
lecturer at Wandsworth, Mr. Smith of Mitcham, Mr. Crane 
of Roehampton, Messrs. Wilcox, Standen, Jackson, Bonham, 
Saintloe, Travers, Charke, Barber, Gardiner, Crook, and Eger- 
ton ; with whom were associated a good many laymen. A sum- 
mary of their views on the subject of church government was 
drawn out in Latin, under the title Disciplina Ecclesice sacra ex 
Dei Verbo descripta, and, though it had to be printed at Geneva, 
became so well known that, according to Fuller, " Secundum 
usum Wandsworth was as much honored by some as secundum 
usum Sarum by others." 

The English Presbyterianism thus asserting itself and spread- 
ing found its ablest and most energetic leader in the famous 
Thomas Cartwright (1 535-1603). No less by practical ingenuity 
than by the pen, he labored for presbytery ; and under his direc- 
tion Presbyterianism attained such dimensions that between 
1580 and 1590 there were no fewer than five hundred beneficed 
clergymen of the Church of England, most of them Cambridge 
men, all pledged to general agreement in a revised form of the 
Wandsworth Directory of Discipline, all in private intercommu- 
nication among themselves, and all meeting occasionally, or at 
appointed times, in local conferences, or even in provincial and 
general synods. In addition to London, the parts of the country 
thus most leavened with Presbyterianism were the shires of 


Warwick, Northampton, Rutland, Leicester, Cambridge, and 

Of course such an anomaly, of a Presbyterian organization 
of ministers existing within the body of the prelatic system es- 
tablished by law, and to the detriment or disintegration of that 
system, could not be tolerated ; and, when Whitgift had procured 
sufficient information to enable him to seize and prosecute the 
chiefs, it was, in fact, stamped out. But the recollection of Cart- 
wright and of Presbyterian principles remained in the English 
mind through the reigns of James and Charles, and character- 
ized the main mass of the more effective and respectable Puri- 
tamsm of those reigns. In other words, most of those Puritans, 
whether ministers or of the laity, who still continued members 
of the Church, only protesting against some of its rules and cere- 
monies, conjoined with this nonconformity in points of worship 
a dissatisfaction with the prelatic constitution of the Church, and 
a willingness to see the order of bishops removed, and the gov- 
ernment of the Church remodelled on the Presbyterian system 
of parochial courts, classical or district meetings, provincial syn- 
ods, and national assemblies. 

During the supremacy of Laud, indeed, when any such 
wholesale revolution seemed hopeless, it is possible that English 
Puritanism within the Church had abandoned in some degree its 
dreamings over the Presbyterian theory, and had sunk, through 
exhaustion, into mere sighings after a relaxation of the estab- 
lished episcopacy. But the success of the Presbyterian revolt of 
the Scots in 1638, and their continued triumph in the two fol- 
lowing years, had worked wonders. All the remains of native 
Presbyterian tradition in England had been kindled afresh, and 
new masses of English Puritan feeling, till then acquiescent in 
episcopacy, had been whirled into a passion for presbytery and 
nothing else. When the Long Parliament, at its first meeting 
(November, 1640), addressed itself to the question of a reform 
of the English Church, the force that beat against its doors most 
strongly from the outside world of English opinion consisted no 
longer of mere sighings after a limitation of episcopacy, but of a 
formed determination of myriads to have done with episcopacy 
root and branch, and to see a church government substituted 
somewhat after the Scottish pattern. 


Two years more of discussion in and out of Parliament had 
vastly enlarged the dimensions of this revived and newly created 
English Presbyterianism. The passion for presbytery among 
the English laity had pervaded all the counties; and scores and 
hundreds of parish ministers who had kept as long as they could 
within the 'limits of mere Low-church Anglicanism, and had 
stood out, in their private reasonings, for the lawfulness and ex- 
pediency of an order of officers in the Church superior to that of 
simple presbyters, if less lordly than the bishops, had been swept 
out of their scruples, and had joined themselves, even heartily, 
to the Presbyterian current. Thus, when the Westminster As- 
sembly met (July, 1643), to consider, among other things, what 
form of church government the Parliament should be advised to 
establish in England in lieu of the episcopacy which it had been 
resolved to abolish, the injunction almost universally laid upon 
them by already formed opinion among the parliamentarians of 
England, whether laity or clergy out of the assembly, seemed to be 
that they should recommend conformity with Scottish presby- 
tery. All the citizenship, all the respectability of London, for 
example, was resolutely [Presbyterian, and of the one hundred 
twenty parish ministers of the city, surrounding the assembly, 
only three, so far as could be ascertained, were not of strict 
Presbyterian principles. 

Nevertheless, amid all this apparent prevalence of Presby- 
terianism, there was a stubborn tradition in England of another 
set of antiprelatic views, long stigmatized by the nickname of 
Brownism, but known latterly as Independency or Congrega- 

Independents and Presbyterians are quite agreed in main- 
taining that the terms " bishop " or overseer, and " presbyter" 
or elder, were synonymous in the pure or primitive Church, and 
applied indifferently to the same persons, and that prelacy and 
all its developments were subsequent corruptions. The peculiar 
tenet of independency, distinguishing it from Presbyterianism, 
consists in something else. It consists in the belief that the only 
organization recognized in the primitive Church was that of the 
voluntary association of believers into local congregations, each 
choosing its own office-bearers and managing its own affairs, in- 
dependently of neighboring congregations, though willing occa- 
e., vol. xi.— 16. 


sionally to hold friendly conferences with such neighboring con- 
gregations, and to profit by the collective advice. Gradually, it 
is asserted, this right or habit of occasional friendly conference 
between neighboring congregations had been mismanaged and 
abused, until the true independency of each voluntary society of 
Christians was forgotten, and authority came to be vested in 
synods or councils of the office-bearers of the churches of a dis- 
trict or province. 

This usurpation of power by synods or councils, it is said, 
was as much a corruption of the primitive-church discipline as 
was prelacy itself, or the usurpation of power by eminent indi- 
vidual presbyters, assuming the name of " bishops" in a new 
sense. Nay, the one usurpation had prepared the way for the 
other; and, especially after the establishment of Christianity in 
the Roman Empire by the civil power, the two usurpations had 
gone on together, until the church became a vast political ma- 
chinery of councils, smaller or larger, regulated by a hierarchy 
of bishops, archbishops, and patriarchs, all pointing to the pope- 
dom. The error of the Presbyterians, it is maintained, lies in 
their not perceiving this natural and historical connection of the 
two usurpations, and so retaining the synodical tyranny while 
they would throw off the prelatic. 

Not having recovered the true original idea of an ecclesia as 
consisting simply of a society of individual Christians meeting 
together periodically and united by a voluntary compact, while 
the great invisible church of a nation or of the world consists of 
the whole multitude of such mutually independent societies har- 
moniously moved by the unseen Spirit present in all, Presbyte- 
rians, it is said, substitute the more mechanical image of a visible 
collective church for each community or nation, try to perfect 
that image by devices borrowed from civil polity, and find the 
perfection they seek in a system of national assemblies, provin- 
cial synods, and district courts of presbyters, superintending and 
controlling individual congregations. Independency, on the 
other hand, would purify the aggregate Church to the utmost, by 
throwing off the synodical tyranny as well as the prelatic, and re- 
storing the complete power of discipline to each particular church 
or society of Christians formed in any one place. 

So, I believe, though with varieties of expression, English In- 


dependents argue now. But, while they thus seek the original 
warrant for their views in the New Testament and in the prac- 
tice of the primitive Church, and while they maintain also that 
the essence of these views was rightly revived in old English Wyc- 
liffism, and perhaps in some of the speculations which accom- 
panied Luther's Reformation on the Continent, they admit that 
the theory of Independency had to be worked out afresh by a 
new process of the English mind in the sixteenth and seventeenth 
centuries, and they are content, I believe, that the crude, imme- 
diate beginning of that process should be sought in the opin- 
ions propagated, between 1580 and 1590, by the erratic Robert 
Brown, a Rutlandshire man, bred at Cambridge, who had be- * 
come a preacher at Norwich. 

Here and there in England by his tongue during those ten 
years, and sometimes by pamphlets in exile, Brown, who could 
boast that he had been "committed to thirty-two prisons, in some 
of which he could not see his hand at noon-day," and who es- 
caped the gallows only through some family connection he had 
with the all-powerful Lord Burghley, had preached doctrines far 
more violently schismatic than those of Cartwright and the ma- 
jority of the Puritans. His attacks on bishops and episcopacy 
were boundlessly fierce ; and the duty of separation in toto from 
the Church of England, the right of any number of persons to 
form themselves into a distinct congregation, the mutual inde- 
pendence of congregations so formed, and the liberty of any 
member of a congregation to preach or exhort in it, were among 
his leading tenets. 

At length, tiring of the tempest he had raised around him, he 
accepted a living in Northamptonshire; and, though he is not 
known to have ever formally recanted any of his opinions, he 
lived on in his parsonage till as late as 1630, when Fuller knew 
him as a passionate and rather disreputable old man of eighty, 
employing a curate to do his work, quarrelling with everybody, 
and refusing to pay his rates. Meanwhile the opinions which he 
had propagated fifty years before had passed through a singular 
history in the minds and lives of men of steadier and more per- 
severing character. For, though Brown himself had vanished 
from public view since 1590, the Brownists, or Separatists, as 
they were called, had persisted in their course, through execra- 


tion and persecution, as a sect of outlaws beyond the pale of or- 
dinary Puritanism, and with whom moderate Puritans disowned 
connection or sympathy. One hears of considerable numbers of 
them in the shires of Norfolk and Essex and throughout Wales ; 
and there was a central association of them in London, hold- 
ing conventicles in the fields, or shifting from meeting-house to 
meeting-house in the suburbs, so as to elude Whitgift's ecclesi- 
astical police. At length, in 1592, the police broke in upon one 
of the meetings of the London Brownists at Islington; fifty-six 
of these were thrown into divers jails; and, some of the Separat- 
ist leaders having been otherwise arrested, there ensued a ven- 
geance far more ruthless than the government dared against 
Puritans in general. 

Six of the leaders were brought to the scaffold, including 
Henry Barrowe, a Gray's Inn lawyer — of such note among those 
early Brownists by his writings that they were also called Bar- 
rowists — John Greenwood, a preacher, and the poor young 
Welshman, John Penry, whose brave and simple words on his 
own hard case, addressed before his death to Lord Burghley, 
thrill one's nerves yet. All these were of Cambridge training, 
though Penry had also been at Oxford. Others died in prison ; 
and of the remainder many were banished. 

Among the observers of these severities was Francis Bacon, 
then rising into eminence as a politician and lawyer. His feeling 
on the subject was thus expressed at the time: "As for those 
which we call Brownists, being, when they were at the most, a 
very small number of very silly and base people here and there 
in corners dispersed, they are now — thanks be to God — by the 
good remedies that have been used, suppressed and worn out, so 
as there is scarce any news of them." Bacon, doubtless, here ex- 
pressed the feeling of all that was respectable in English society. 
For not only was it the theory of Brownism intrinsically that the 
Church of England was a false church, an institution of anti- 
christ, from which all Christians were bound to separate them- 
selves; but the scurrilities against the bishops that had been 
vented anonymously by some particular nest of Brownists, or 
their allies, in the famous series of Martin Marprelate Tracts 
(1589), had disgusted and enraged many who would have toler- 
ated moderate Nonconformity. 


With respect to the theory of church government called In- 
dependency or Congregationalism, the state of the case in 1640 
may be thus summed up: There was an unknown amount of 
traditional affection for the theory, even where it could not be 
articulately stated, in the native and popular antiprelacy of Eng- 
land itself. This vague and diffused Independency had also a 
few champions in known Separatist ministers, who had man- 
aged to remain in England through all difficulties, and perhaps 
it had well-wishers in a private opinionist or two, like John 
Goodwin, regularly in orders in the Church of England ; but the 
effective mass of English-born Independency lay wholly without 
the bounds of England, partly in little curdlings of Separatists 
or Semiseparatists among the English exiles in some of the 
towns of Holland, but chiefly, and in most assured completeness 
both of bulk and of detail, in the incipient transatlantic com- 
monwealth of New England. 

One thing, however, was certain all the while. These two 
effective aggregations of English-born Independency beyond the 
bounds of England — the small Dutch scattering and the massive 
American extension — were not dissociated from England, had 
not learned to be foreign to her, but were in correspondence 
with her, in constant survey of her concerns, and attached to 
her by such homeward yearnings that, on the least opportunity, 
the least signal given, they would leap back upon her shores. 

The opportunity came, and the signal was given, in Novem- 
ber, 1640, when the Long Parliament met. It was as if England 
then proclaimed to all her exiles for opinion, " Ye need be exiles 
no more." Accordingly, between that date and the meeting of 
the Westminster Assembly in July, 1643, we have the interesting 
phenomenon of a return of some of the conspicuous representa- 
tives of Independency both from Holland and from New Eng- 

The necessity of an ecclesiastical synod or convocation, to 
cooperate with the Parliament, had been long felt. Among the 
articles of the Grand Remonstrance of December, 1641, had been 
one desiring a convention of "a general synod of the most grave, 
pious, learned, and judicious divines of this island, assisted by 
some from foreign parts," to consider of all things relating to the 
Church and report thereon to Parliament. It is clear, from the 


wording of this article, that it was contemplated that the synod 
should contain representatives from the Presbyterian Church of 
Scotland. Indeed, by that time, the establishment of a unifor- 
mity of doctrine, discipline, and worship between the churches 
of England and Scotland was the fixed idea of those who chiefly 
desired a synod. There had been express communications on 
the subject between the leading English Puritan ministers and 
the chiefs of the Scottish Kirk. Henderson * had strongly taken 
the matter to heart, and in connection with it he had made a 
1 'notable motion" in the Scottish General Assembly of August, 
1 641. Might it not be well, he had urged, that the Scottish 
Church should employ itself in "drawing up a confession of 
faith, a catechism, a directory for all the parts of the public wor- 
ship, and a platform of government, wherein possibly England 
and we might agree" ? 

Henderson's notion was that, if such an authoritative expo- 
sition of the whole theory and practice of the Kirk of Scotland 
could be drawn up for the study of the English, and especially 
if care were taken in it not to be ultra- Scottish in mere minutiae, 
the effect would be to facilitate the religious union of the two na- 
tions. The Scottish assembly, at any rate, had warmly enter- 
tained the notion, and had deputed the difficult and delicate 
work to Henderson himself. Henderson, however, had, on more 
mature thoughts, abandoned the project. He had done so for 
reasons creditable to his considerateness and good-sense. It had 
occurred to him that the English might like to think out the de- 
tails of their church reformation for themselves, that it might do 
more harm than good to thrust an elaborated Scottish system 
upon them as a perfection already consummate, and that it 
might even be becoming in the Scots to hold themselves pre- 
pared, in the interests of the conformity they desired, to gravi- 
tate toward what might be the English conclusions on nonessen- 
tial points. At all events, he had come to see that the work was 
too great for the responsibility of any one man. Possibly, too, 
he knew by that time (April, 1642) that a general synod of Eng- 
lish divines would very soon be called. 

Actually, in April, 1642, just when Henderson gave up the 

1 Alexander Henderson, the Scottish ecclesiastic and diplomatist, was 
at this time most prominent among the Presbyterian leaders. 


business as too great for one man's strength, the English House 
of Commons were making arrangements for a synod of divines. 
On the 19th of that month it was ordered by the House, in pur- 
suance of previous resolutions on the subject, " that the names 
of such divines as shall be thought fit to be consulted with con- 
cerning the matter of the Church be brought in to-morrow morn- 
ing," the understood rule being that the knights and burgesses 
of each English county should name to the House two divines, 
and those of each Welsh county one divine, for approval. , Ac- 
cordingly, on the 20th, the names were given in; on that day 
the divines proposed for nine of the English counties were ap- 
proved of in pairs ; and on following days the rest of the English 
counties — London and the two universities coming in for sepa- 
rate representation — were gone over, pretty much in 'their alpha- 
betical order, the Welsh counties and the Channel islands com- 
ing last, till, on April 25th, the tale of the divines "thought fit 
to be consulted with" was complete. It included one hundred 
two divines, generally from the counties for which they were sev- 
erally named; but by no means always so, for in not a few cases 
the knights and burgesses of distant counties nominated divines 
living in London or near it. 

In almost all cases the divines named by the knights and bur- 
gesses for their several counties were approved of by the House 
unanimously; but a vote was taken on the eligibility of one 
of the divines named for Yorkshire, and he was carried by a 
bare majority of one hundred three to ninety-nine, and excep- 
tions having been taken on the 25th to the two appointed for 
Cumberland on the 20th, their appointment was cancelled and 
others were substituted. On the same day on which the list of 
divines was completed, a committee of twenty- seven members of 
the House, including Hampden, Selden, and Lord Falkland, was 
appointed "to consider of the readiest way to put in execution 
the resolutions of this House in consulting with such divines as 
they have named." The result was that on May 9th there was 
brought in a "bill for calling an assembly of godly and learned 
divines to be consulted with by the Parliament, for the settling 
of the government and liturgy of the Church, and for the vindi- 
cating and clearing of the doctrine of the Church of England 
from false aspersions and interpretations." On that day the bill 


was read twice in the Commons and committed; and on the 19th 
it was read a third time and passed. The Lords, having then 
taken the bill into consideration, proposed (May 26, 1642) the 
addition of fourteen divines of their own choice to those named 
by the Commons; and, the Commons having agreed to this 
amendment, the bill passed both Houses, June 1st, and waited 
only the King's assent. It was intended that the assembly should 
meet the next month. 

The King had other things to do at that moment than assent 
to a bill for an assembly of divines. He was at York, gathering 
his forces for the civil war; and by the time when it was ex- 
pected the assembly should have been at work the civil war 
had begun. Nevertheless, the Parliament persevered in their de- 
£ ign. Twice again, while the war was in its first stage, bills were 
introduced to the same effect as that which had been stopped. 
Bill the second for calling an assembly of divines was in Octo- 
ber, and bill the third in December, 1642. In these bills the two 
houses kept to the one hundred sixteen divines agreed upon 
under the first bill, with — as far as I have been able to trace the 
matter through their journals — only one deletion, two substitu- 
tions, and three proposed additions. 

Still, by the stress of the war, the assembly was postponed. 
At last, hopeless of a bill that should pass in the regular way by 
the King's consent, the houses resorted, in this as in other things, 
to their peremptory plan of ordinance by their own authority. 
On May 13, 1643, an ordinance for calling an assembly was in- 
troduced in the Commons; which ordinance, after due going 
and coming between the two Houses, came to maturity June 
12th, when it was entered at full length in the Lords Journals. 
"Whereas, among the infinite blessings of Almighty God upon 
this nation" — so runs the preamble of the ordinance — "none is, 
or can be, more dear to us than the purity of our religion ; and 
forasmuch as many things yet remain in the discipline, liturgy, 
and government of the Church which necessarily require a more 
perfect reformation: and whereas it has been declared and re- 
solved, by the Lords and Commons assembled in parliament, 
that the present church government by archbishops, bishops, 
their chancellors, commissaries, deans, deans and chapters, arch- 
deacons, and other ecclesiastical officers depending on the hier- 


archy, is evil, and justly offensive and burdensome to the king- 
dom, and a great impediment to reformation and growth of re- 
ligion, and very prejudicial to the state and government of this 
kingdom, and that therefore they are resolved the same shall be 
taken away, and that such a government shall be settled in the 
Church as may be agreeable to God's Holy Word, and most apt 
to procure and preserve the peace of the Church at home, and 
nearer agreement with the Church of Scotland, and other re- 
formed churches abroad. Be it therefore ordained," etc. 

What is ordained is that one hundred forty-nine persons, 
enumerated by name in the ordinance — ten of them being mem- 
bers of the Lords House, twenty members of the Commons 
House, and the other one hundred nineteen mainly the di- 
vines that had already been fixed upon, most of them a year 
before — shall meet on July 1st next in King Henry VII's chapel 
at Westminster; and that these persons, and such others as 
shall be added to them by Parliament from time to time, shall 
have power to continue their sittings as long as Parliament may 
see fit, and "to confer and treat among themselves of such mat- 
ters and things concerning the liturgy, discipline, and govern- 
ment of the Church of England, or the vindicating and clearing 
of the doctrine of the same from all false aspersions and miscon- 
structions, as shall be proposed by either or both houses 0} Parlia- 
ment, and no other." The words in Italics are important. The 
assembly was not to be an independent national council ranging 
at its will and settling things by its own authority. It was to 
be a body advising Parliament on matters referred to it, and 
on these alone, and its conclusions were to have no validity 
until they should be reported to Parliament and confirmed 

Forty members of the assembly were to constitute a quorum, 
and the proceedings were not to be divulged without consent of 
Parliament. Four shillings a day were to be allowed to each cler- 
ical member for his expenses, with immunity for non-residence 
in his parish or any neglect of his ordinary duties that might be 
entailed by his presence at Westminster. William Twisse, D.D., 
of Newbury, was to be prolocutor, or chairman, of the assembly; 
and he was to have two "assessors," to supply his place in case 
of necessary absence. There were to be two "scribes," who 


should be divines, but not members of the assembly, to take min- 
utes of the proceedings. 

Every member of the assembly, on his first entrance, was to 
make solemn protestation that he would not maintain anything 
but what he believed to be the truth; no resolution on any ques- 
tion was to be come to on the same day on which it was first pro- 
pounded; whatever any speaker maintained to be necessary he 
was to prove out of the Scriptures; all decisions of the major 
part of the assembly were to be reported to Parliament as the 
decisions of the assembly; but the dissents of individual mem- 
bers were to be duly registered, if they required it, and also re- 
ported to Parliament. The Lords wanted to regulate also that no 
long speeches should be permitted in the assembly, so that mat- 
ters might not be carried by " impertinent flourishes"; but the 
Commons, for reasons that are not far to seek, did not agree to 
this regulation. 

Notwithstanding a royal proclamation from Oxford, dated 
June 2 2d, forbidding the assembly and threatening conse- 
quences, the first meeting duly took place on the day appointed — 
Saturday, July 1, 1643 5 an d from that date till February 22, 1648- 
1649, or for more than five years and a half, the Westminster 
Assembly is to be borne in mind as a power of institution in the 
English realm, existing side by side with the Long Parliament, 
and in constant conference and cooperation with it. The num- 
ber of its sittings during these five years and a half was one 
thousand one hundred sixty- three in all; which is at the rate of 
about four sittings every week for the whole time. The earliest 
years of the assembly were the most important. All in all, it was 
an assembly which left remarkable and permanent effects in the 
British islands, and the history of which ought to be more inter- 
esting, in some homely respects, to Britons now, than the history 
of the Council of Basel, the Council of Trent, or any other of 
the great ecclesiastical councils, more ancient and ecumenical, 
about which we hear so much. 

Such was the famous Westminster Assembly, called together 
by the Parliament of England to consider the entire state of the 
country in matters of religion. The business intrusted to it was 
vast and complex. It was to revise and redefine the national 
creed, after its long lapse into so-called Arminianism and semi- 


popish error, and to advise also as to the new system of church 
government and the new forms of worship that should come in 
place of rejected episcopacy and the condemned liturgy. For it 
was still, be it remembered, the universal notion among English 
politicians that there must be a national church, and that no 
man, woman, or child within the land should be permitted to be 
out of the pale of that church. It was still the notion that it was 
possible to frame a certain number of propositions respecting 
God, heaven, angels, hell, devils, the creation of the universe, 
the soul of man, sin and its remedy, a life beyond death, and all 
the other most tremendous subjects of human contemplation, 
that should be absolutely true, or at least so just and sure a com- 
pendium of truth that the nation must be tied up to it, and it 
would be wrong to allow any man, woman, or child, subject to 
the law of England, to be astray from it in any item. This was 
the notion, and those one hundred forty-nine persons were ap- 
pointed to frame the all-important propositions, or find them 
out by a due revision of the old articles, and to report to Parlia- 
ment on that subject, as well as on the subjects of church organ- 
ization and forms of worship. 

The appointment, among the original one hundred forty- 
nine or one hundred fifty members of assembly, of such per- 
sons as Archbishop Usher, Bishops Brownrigge and Westfield, 
Featley, Hacket, Hammond, Holdsworth, Morley, Nicolson, 
Saunderson, and Samuel Ward — all of them defenders of an 
episcopacy of some kind — seems hardly reconcilable with the 
very terms of the ordinance calling the assembly. That ordi- 
nance implied that episcopacy was condemned and done with, 
and it convoked the assembly for the express purpose of consid- 
ering, among other things, what should be put in its stead. It 
may have been thought, however, that it would impart a more 
liberal and eclectic character to the assembly to send a sprinkling 
of known Anglicans into it; or it may have been thought right to 
give some of the most respected of these an opportunity of re- 
trieving themselves by acquiescing in what they could not pre- 
vent. As it chanced, however, the refusal of most of these to ap- 
pear in the assembly at all, and the all but immediate dropping- 
ofl of the one or two who did appear at first, saved the assembly 
much trouble. It became thus a compact body, fit for its work, 


and in the main of one mind and way of thinking on some of the 
problems submitted to it. 

In respect of theological doctrine, for example, the assembly, 
as it was then left, was practically unanimous. They were, al- 
most to a man, Calvinists, or anti-Arminians, pledged by their an- 
tecedents to such a revision of the articles as should make the na- 
tional creed more distinctly Calvinistic than before. Moreover, 
they were agreed as to their method for determining doctrine. 
It was to be the rigid application of the Protestant princi- 
ple that the Bible is the sole rule of faith. The careful inter- 
pretation of Scripture — i.e., the collecting on any occasion of dis- 
cussion of all the texts in the Old and New Testaments bearing 
on the point discussed, and the examination of these texts singly 
and in their connection and in the original tongues when neces- 
sary, so as to ascertain their exact sense — this was the under- 
stood rule with them all. Learning was, indeed, in demand, and 
the chief scholars, especially the chief Hebraists and rabbinists, 
of the assembly, were much looked up to : there might be refer- 
ences also to the fathers and to councils; no kind of historical 
lore but would be welcome : only all must subserve the one pur- 
pose of interpreting Scripture; and fathers, councils, and what- 
not, could be cited, not as authorities, but only as witnesses. 
This understanding as to the determination of doctrine by the 
Bible alone, accompanied as it was by a nearly unanimous pre- 
conviction that it was the Calvinistic body of doctrines alone that 
could be reasoned out of the Bible, was to keep the assembly, I 
repeat, pretty much together from the first in matters of creed 
and theology. For perplexing questions as to the extent and 
limits of the inspiration of the Bible had not yet publicly arisen 
to invalidate the accepted method. 



A.D. 1647 


Among the various popular insurrections of which Naples has been 
the scene, the most memorable in violence and in effective results is that 
which Masaniello headed. Naples, with Sicily, was then subject to 
Spain, and a Spanish viceroy governed there. Popular discontent had 
already shown itself in tumults. These were provoked by various acts of 
oppression, but especially by burdensome taxation and the draining of 
the province of men for the Spanish service. 

At the same time Naples was subject to French intrigue. It was the 
aim of Cardinal Mazarin, the successor of Richelieu as prime minister of 
France, to seize the rich Spanish possessions, Naples and Sicily. He 
foresaw the coming insurrection, and prepared to take advantage of it. 
Although his schemes added to the Neapolitan complications, he was 
not to profit by them as he hoped. 

Finally, in Naples the half-smothered spirit of revolt broke out when 
Spain imposed a duty on fruits, raising the cost of productions upon 
which the majority of the people depended for subsistence. 

Reumont, whose mastery in the field of Italian history is well known, 
brings out in full light the circumstances and consequences of Masaniel- 
lo's rising. 

TN May, 1647, a rebellion broke out in Palermo among the 
lower class of people, which the viceroy, Don Pedro Fajardo 
Marquis de Los Veles, was not in a condition to resist. The con- 
stant increase of the taxes on articles of food, which, especially 
in the manner in which they were then raised, were the most felt 
and the most burdensome kind of taxation for the people, excited 
a tumult which lasted for many months, occasioned serious dis- 
sensions between the nobility and the people, and was only sub- 
dued by a mixture of firmness and clemency on the part of the 
Cardinal Trivulzio, the successor of Los Veles. The news of the 
disturbances in Sicily reached Naples, when everything there was 
ripe for an insurrection, which had for a long time been ferment- 
ing, and agitating men's minds. 



On all sides the threatening indications increased. Notices 
posted upon the walls announced that the people of Naples would 
follow the example of the inhabitants of Palermo if the gabelles 
were not taken off, especially the fruit tax, which pressed the 
hardest upon the populace; the better the season was, the more 
the poor felt themselves debarred from the enjoyment of a cheap 
and cooling food. The Viceroy was stopped by a troop of people 
as he was going to mass at the Church of Santa Maria del Car- 
mine; he extricated himself from his difficulty as well as he could, 
laid the blame on the nobility who had ordered the tax, and prom- 
ised what he never intended to perform. The associations of 
nobles assembled, but they could not agree. Some were of opin- 
ion that the tax should be kept, because the change would inter- 
fere with their pecuniary interests; others because the money 
asked for by the government could not otherwise be procured. 

Notwithstanding these unfavorable circumstances the Duke 
of Arcos, the Spanish Viceroy of Naples, allowed most of the 
Spanish and German troops to march into Lombardy; he was 
deliberating how to meet the attack of the French in the North 
of Italy without considering that he was stripping the country of 
armed forces at a moment when the continuance of the Spanish 
rule was more than ever in jeopardy. 

On the great market-place at Naples, the scene of so many 
tragedies and so many disturbances, stood a miserable cottage, 
with nothing to distinguish it from the others but the name and 
arms of Charles V, which were placed on the front wall. Here 
a poor fisherman lived, Tommaso Aniello, generally called by 
the abbreviated name of Masaniello. His father, Francesco or 
Cicco, came from the coast of Amalfi, and had married in 1620 
Antonia Gargano, a Neapolitan woman. 

In the Vico Rotto, by the great market, which is only inhab- 
ited by the poorest people, and where the pestilence began in the 
year 1656, four months later, the son was born who was destined 
to act so remarkable a part. Tommaso Aniello was baptized in 
the parish church of Sta. Catherina in Foro on June 20, 1620. 
On April 25, 1641, he married Bernardina Pisa, a maiden from 
the neighborhood of that town. Their poverty was so great that 
often Masaniello could not even follow up his trade of a fisher- 
man, but earned a scanty livelihood by selling paper for the fish 


to be carried in. He was of middle height, well made and active ; 
his brilliant dark, black eyes and his sunburnt face contrasted 
singularly with his long, curly, fair hair hanging down his back. 
Thus his cheerful, lively conversation agreed but little with his 
grave countenance. His dress was that of a fisherman, but as 
he is, in general, considered a remarkable person — whatever may 
be thought of the part he performed — so he understood, in spite of 
the meanness of his attire, by his arrangement and his choice of 
colors, to give it a peculiarity that stamped it in the memory of his 
contemporaries. The life of this remarkable man — a nine-days' 
history — clearly shows us that he possessed wonderful presence 
of mind and a spirit that knew not fear. 

It happened, once, in the midst of the discontent which was 
everywhere excited by the exorbitant increase of taxation, that 
Masaniello's wife was detained by the keepers of the gate while 
she was endeavoring to creep into the town with a bundle of flour 
done up in cloths to look like a child in swaddling-clothes. She 
was imprisoned, and her husband, who loved her much, only 
succeeded in obtaining her liberation after eight days. Almost 
the whole of his miserable goods went to pay the fine which had 
been imposed upon her. Thus hatred was smouldering in the 
mind of Masaniello, and the flame was stirred when he — it is not 
known how — quarrelled with the Duke of Maddaloni's people 
and was ill used by them in an unusual manner. Then the idea 
seems to have occurred to him to avenge himself by the aid of the 

Many have related that instigators were not wanting. Giu- 
lio Genuino is named, formerly the favorite of the Duke of 
Ossuna, who, after he had encountered the strangest fate, and 
after wearing the chain of a galley slave at Oran on the coast of 
Barbary, had returned an aged man, in the habit of an ecclesias- 
tic to his native country, meditating upon new intrigues as the 
old ones had failed ; also a captain of banditti and a lay brother 
of the Carmine, who gave Masaniello money, were among the 
conspirators. Perhaps all this was only an attempt to explain 
the extraordinary fact. This much only is known with certainty, 
that Masaniello sought to collect a troop of boys and young 
people, who, among the numerous vagrant population, thronged 
the market and its neighborhood from the adjacent districts, as 


whose leader he intended to appear, as had often been done be- 
fore, at the feast of the Madonna of Carmel, which takes place 
in the middle of July. 

At that festival it was the custom to build a castle of wood and 
canvas in the middle of the market-place, close to which, as al- 
ready has been described, was the church and convent of the 
Carmelites, and this castle was besieged and defended by troops 
of the people. The great mass of the assailants was formed out 
of a band of lads of the lowest class, about four hundred in num- 
ber, who painted the greatest part of their bodies and their faces 
black and red; their tattered clothes gave them an oriental 
appearance. They were armed with sticks, and called the com- 
pany of the Alarbes, perhaps an Arabian name. They were 
drilled by Masaniello, and considered him as their chief. 

It is easy to conceive how ill the people spoke of the tax- 
gatherers, who, by their severity and roughness in their daily 
treatment, kept up perpetual quarrels and ill-will with the equally 
rough populace, who therefore tried to deceive them. On one 
beautiful summer night the custom-house in the great market- 
place flew up into the air. A quantity of powder had been con- 
veyed into it by unknown hands, and in the morning nothing re- 
mained but the blackened ruins. It had been intended by this 
action to oblige the Viceroy to take off the taxes ; but, without loss 
of time, in an opposite building, a new custom-house was estab- 
lished. The collectors were only the more angry and unmerci- 
ful, and every day seemed to bring the outbreak nearer. 

Thus the morning of July 7, 1647, approached. It was Sun- 
day, and a number of fruit- sellers, with carts and donkeys and 
full baskets, came into the town very early from Pozzuoli, and 
went as usual to the great market. Scarcely had they reached it 
when the dispute began. The question was not so much whether 
the tax should be paid, as who was to pay it. The men of Poz- 
zuoli maintained that the Neapolitan dealers in fruit were to pay 
five carlins on a hundredweight ; the others said it was not their 
business : thus the disturbance began. 

Some respectable people who foresaw the evil hastened to the 
Viceroy, who commissioned Andrea Naclerio, the deputy of the 
people, to go immediately to the market-place and restore peace. 
Naclerio was getting into a boat to sail to Posilipo, where he in- 


tended to spend the day with his colleagues belonging to the asso- 
ciation of nobles, when he received the order. He turned back, 
coasted along the shore of the Marinella, and got out by the tan- 
ner's gate, near the fort which takes its name from the church of 
the Carmelites. Here a different Sunday scene awaited him 
from that which he had promised himself in the fragrant and 
shady gardens. 

The market was filled with riotous people, and the uproar was 
so much the worse because Masaniello, with his troop of Alarbes, 
had met them in the morning for a grand review. The people of 
Pozzuoli, of bad fame since the days of Don Pedro de Toledo, 
quarrelled and protested; the Neapolitans were not a whit behind 
them in fluency of speech. The tax-gatherers would listen to no 
remonstrances and insisted upon the payment. 

Andrea Naclerio tried in all ways to obtain a hearing and to 
appease the tumult. He said to the Pozzuolans that they ought 
to pay, that the money would be returned to them. They would 
not. He demanded to have the fruit weighed; he would pay the 
tax out of his own purse : this also they refused. The tax-gather- 
ers and sbirri now lost all patience. They fetched the great 
scales, and wanted to weigh the fruit by force. Then the venders 
pushed down the baskets, so that the fruit rolled along the ground, 
and called out to the people: "Take what you can get, and taste 
it; it is the last time that we shall come here to the market." 

From all sides boys and men flung themselves upon the bas- 
kets and the fruit. The signal was given for an insurrection. 
The tax-gatherers drove the people back; the people made use 
of the fruit as their weapons. Andrea Naclerio rushed into the 
thickest of the crowd; the captain of the sbirri and some of the 
respectable inhabitants of the adjacent tan quarter hastened 
hither, and bore him in their arms out of the knot of men who in 
one moment had increased to a large mass; for idle people had 
flocked thither from the neighboring street, from the dirty and 
populous Lavinaro, as well as from the coast. The deputy was 
rejoiced to reach his boat, and made the rowers ply vigorously 
that he might bring the noise of the tumult to the palace. But 
the populace proceeded from fruit to stones, put to flight the tax- 
gatherers and sbirri, crowded into the custom-house, destroyed 
the table and chairs, set fire to the ruins as well as the account- 
e., vol. xi.— 17. 


books, so that soon a bright flame rose up amid the loud rejoicings 
of the bystanders. 

Meanwhile Andrea Naclerio had reached the palace. He re- 
lated the whole proceeding to the Viceroy, and pointed out to 
him at the same time that only the abolition of the fruit tax could 
appease the people. The Duke of Arcos resolved to try mild- 
ness. Two men of illustrious birth, who were more beloved by 
the crowd than the others, Tiberio Carafa, Prince of Bisignano, 
and Ettore Ravaschieri, Prince of Satriano, repaired to the mar- 
ket-place as peacemakers. Naclerio was not satisfied with this; 
he feared that Don Tiberio would, in his kindness, promise more 
than could be performed, and so only make matters worse. What 
he had foreseen happened. When Bisignano reached the mar- 
ket and found the crowd still wild with rage, he announced that 
the Viceroy would not only abolish the fruit tax, but all the other 
gabelles : they might make merry and be satisfied. 

The rioters listened. A promise from the viceroy of the 
abolition of all the gabelles — that was worth hearing. Masani- 
ello had kept quiet during the assault upon the deputy and tax- 
gatherers, and to a certain degree had acted as mediator. 
"Now," he exclaimed, "we will march to the palace." The great 
mass of the people followed him; another troop surrounded 
Bisignano, who would gladly have freed himself from his wild 
escort, and trotted his horse when he came to the King's gate; 
but they soon reached him again, and so much forgot the respect 
due to his rank that they laid their hands on him and compelled 
him to accompany them to San Lorenzo, the residence of the 
superior town magistrate. 

Arrived here, they cried out for the privileges of Charles V, 
an idea instilled into them by Giulio Genuino, who, disguised 
and with a long beard, made one of the procession, and was the 
soul of all the intrigues that were hidden under the wild impulses 
of the masses. Don Tiberio Carafa esteemed himself fortunate 
to escape from his oppressors; he crept into a cell and went to 
Castelnuovo, from whence he repaired to Rome, so exhausted 
from the scene he had witnessed that he died mad not long 

Meanwhile, the far more numerous band was on its way to 
the palace. Drummers marched in advance. Masaniello had 


mounted a horse and held up a banner, some of his followers 
were provided with sticks, and others armed with poles. They 
had, in their haste, seized upon any implements that they could 
find; numerous lads, old guards of the leader, accompanied the 
strange procession. Whistling and making a blustering noise, 
most of them in rags and barefooted — a genuine mob, who soon 
became aware how much was left to their will and discretion. 
The Duke was in the palace, and with him many of the nobles 
belonging to the town, who advised him to strengthen his Span- 
ish guard immediately, but he would not, whether from fear of 
irritating the people, or because he did not consider the danger 
so imminent. The grand master of the horse, Don Carlo Car- 
acciolo, with Don Luis Ponce de Leone, a cousin of the Vice- 
roy's, and governor of the vicarial court, were standing on one 
of the balconies at the moment when the crowd reached the 
square before the palace, and Masaniello, waving his banner 
three times before the guard, called out, " Long life to the King 
of Spain ! Down with the gabelles ! " — a cry which was repeated 
by thousands of the people. 

Caricciolo went down and began to talk to the people. They 
remained standing; they complained of the oppressive taxes; 
they complained of the bad bread ; they held him out pieces of it ; 
he might judge himself whether it was food for men or dogs. 
They urged upon all the deposition of the Eletto, on whom, as 
usual, the blame was laid that things were not more prosper- 

At first affairs went on tolerably well. With great dexterity 
Don Carlo kept the crowd away from the entrances, while he 
corresponded by means of his vassals with the Viceroy, who con- 
sented to Naclerio's deposition — to the abolition of the duties on 
fruit and on wine. Now the audacity of the crowd increased. 
Why not ask for more when everything was granted to them? 
The flour tax also ! Caracciolo objected; things could not go on 
so. But in the same moment new masses of many thousand men 
crowded into the square, uttering wild noises. The negotiator 
was obliged to give way, and had only time to inform the Viceroy 
that he might withdraw into Casielnuovo. 

When the people found the outer gate of the palace un- 
guarded, they rushed into the court and forced their way up the 


great stairs. At the end of it, at the entrance of the hall, stood 
the German bodyguard. They crossed their halberds to ward off 
the crowd, but the pressure was too violent. After a short strug- 
gle their arms were wrenched from them; ill-treated and bleed- 
ing, they could no longer defend the entrance against the assail- 
ants. Meanwhile the Duke of Arcos had made his appearance 
at one of the balconies, and told the crowd in the Spanish lan- 
guage to compose themselves ; he would do their will. But they 
did not understand him, and cried out that he must keep to what 
he had promised them by the Prince of Bisignano. The Viceroy 
jaw that he was losing time. Already the foremost of the assail- 
ants stormed at the doors of the first saloon, which had been 
locked in haste. Now every moment was precious. In vain 
did Don Carlo Caracciolo try once more to appease the people: 
a blow from an iron staff wounded him in the arm, and he was 
hit by two stones. The doors of the first saloon fell with a loud 
crash to the ground. Now the crowd saw no further impedi- 
ment. Everything remaining in the palace was torn asunder. 
The Viceroy, causing the various doors to be bolted behind him, 
hastened to the gallery, that he might reach the spiral staircase 
leading into the court-yard. Now he repented that he had not 
followed Caracciolo's advice, who had desired him to make his 
escape to the castle. Andrea Naclerio concealed himself in the 
apartments of the Vice-queen, let himself down by a rope into the 
garden, and fortunately reached the fortress. But the mob 
broke everything that they found in the royal apartments, the 
panes of the high windows clattered upon the ground, and in the 
midst of wild rejoicings and laughter all the valuable household 
furniture was flung down from the balconies into the streets, in- 
cluding the chairs, the great parasol of the governor of the Col- 
lateral Council, and the mangled papers of the secretary. Even 
the balustrades of the balconies did not escape the vandal fury 
of the populace, and with heavy iron poles and hammers they 
dashed in pieces the beautifully polished works of sculpture. 

The Duke of Arcos had descended the spiral staircase, when 
he perceived that the bridges of the castle were already drawn 
up, the portcullis let down. He believed that he could save him- 
self by crossing the square to the opposite convent of the Minimi, 
as he imagined that the rebels were too much occupied with 


plundering the palace to attend to him. But he miscalculated. 
Scarcely had he reached the square when he was recognized and 
surrounded. A knight of St. Jago, Don Antonio Taboada, was 
accidentally parsing by ; he succeeded in penetrating through the 
crowd to the Viceroy and lifted him into his carriage. The 
rescue of the Duke of Arcos turned upon a hair. One of the 
people, it is said Masaniello himself, wanted to thrust his sword 
into him, but the blow was parried by Don Emanuel Vaez. A 
runaway Augustinian monk seized him by the hair and screamed, 
"Abolish the taxes!" The carriage could not go on. The 
horses pranced; some of the people seized the reins; the coach- 
man was on the ground. Then many of the nobles pressed 
through the crowd, making themselves a passage partly by 
violence, partly by fair words — the Count of Conversano, the 
Marquises of Torrecuso and Brienza, the Duke of Castile Airoia, 
the prior of E.ocella Carafa, Don Antonio Enriquez, and Carlo 
Caracciolo. The Viceroy was indebted to them for his rescue. 

They surrounded the carriage with drawn swords. The 
rebels had already taken the harness of! the horses; two noble- 
men took possession of it, put it on as well as they could, and 
Caracciolo jumped upon the coach-box, fastened in the loose 
horses, while the other nobles remained at the door. But there 
was no getting further — the cries, the uproar, the mass of men 
increased every instant. So few against so many — if there was 
any delay no exit would remain. Don Carlos' mind was quickly 
made up; he opened the doors of the carriage, dragged out the 
half- dead Viceroy, seized him by the arm, while the rest of the 
nobles surrounded them, raising high their swords and warding 
off the pressure of the mob. With the cry, "Make room for the 
King!" they got through the crowd. 

Thus they reached the gates of the convent; it was shut up. 
The populace yelled and threatened the monks with a thousand 
maledictions if they opened it. The general and the provincial 
of the order were present, both Spaniards. They ordered the 
gate to be half opened to admit the Viceroy. Thus it was ac- 
complished. Caracciolo gave the Duke a push, and he was 
saved. But the noblemen to whom he was indebted for his 
safety remained without, exposed to the fury of the mob, now 
become so much the more savage as they saw that their victim 


had escaped. Carlo Caracciolo saved himself with difficulty. 
A stone wounded the Marquis of Brienza in the neck. The 
people tried to break open the gates of the convent, which the 
monks had barricaded in haste. "Long life to the King of 
Spain! Down with the bad government 1" This was the cry, 
echoed from a thousand voices. The Duke of Arcos showed 
himself at the window — he repeated that he would grant what 
was desired — he threw down a declaration signed by himself. 
Nothing was of any avail. The rebels tried to get into the con- 
vent through the church ; they threatened to drag the Viceroy to 
the market. The alarm spread through the town. 

The night came — what a night ! A hundred thousand men 
marched with loud cries through the town. The churches were 
open, and resounded with prayers for the restoration of peace. 
The Theatines and Jesuits left their convents and arranged them- 
selves in processions, singing litanies to the Madonna and the 
saints, but the Ora pro nobis was overpowered by the fury of the 
crowd. Although the first forced their way down the Toledo to 
the palace, and the others penetrated to the great market-place, 
they were obliged nevertheless to withdraw without having ac- 
complished their object. All the highwaymen and murderers, 
of which Naples was full, left their hiding-places. 

The first thing done was to break open the prisons and set the 
prisoners at liberty — all, excepting those confined in the prisons 
of the vicarial court, for the castle of Capuano inspired the rebels 
with respect, whether because of a very large imperial eagle of 
Charles V fixed over the portal, or because the garrison of the old 
fortress, together with the sbirri, stood with lighted matches be- 
hind the crossbars, and threatened the assailants with a bloody 

The prisoners in the vicarial court now sought to set them- 
selves free, and began by destroying the crossbars with heavy 
beams; but some shots, which laid two of them dead on the 
ground, warned them to desist from their attempt. All the other 
prisons were cleared, and the archives and everything that could 
be found in them was burned; the toll-booths throughout the 
town were demolished. The mob went from one gate to another. 
Everywhere the toll-gatherers had escaped — nobody thought of 
making any resistance, and as there were no more prisons to be 


broken open, no more custom-houses to be destroyed, the popu- 
lace began to attack the houses of those who they knew had, 
by farming tolls or in any other way, become rich at the expense 
of the people. There was no mention of defence — the propri- 
etors were glad to save their bare lives. Many rewarded with 
gold the services of the rowers who conveyed them to a villa at 
Posilipo or to any other place beyond the town. 

But the houses were emptied; first that of the cashier of 
taxes, Alphonso Vagliano. Beautiful household furniture, plate, 
pictures, everything that could be found was dragged into the 
streets, thrown together in a heap and burned ; and when one of 
the people wanted to conceal a jewel, he was violently upbraided 
by the rest. 

Hitherto but few, comparatively, of the rebels had been 
armed; they felt this deficiency and wanted to procure them- 
selves arms and artillery. With this view they attacked the con- 
vent and belfry of San Lorenzo, but the small Spanish garrison 
received them with sharp firing, and they were obliged to retire ; 
they only committed the more acts of wanton cruelty. The most 
fearful confusion prevailed; first in one place and then in an- 
other the sky was red with the conflagration. Suddenly a lurid 
light illumined the towers and projecting buildings. The mar- 
ket-place was the principal quarter of the insurgents, who still 
wanted a leader. There, toward midnight, four men, masked, 
wearing the habit of one of the holy brotherhoods, entered a circle 
of men composed of the dregs of the populace — among them was 
Masaniello. Giulio Genuino, one of the four men, took off his 
mask. He had excited and fanned the flame the whole day, and 
now he sought, in the darkness of the night, to complete what he 
had begun. 

They had done right, he said, to let the King of Spain live, 
for it was not a question of taking the crown of Spain off his head, 
but to put an end to the oppression of the people by his covet- 
ous ministers. They must not rest till they had obtained this ; 
but to obtain it, it was necessary above all things to procure 
themselves arms, and, by the choice of a leader, to give union and 
steadiness to their undertaking. They all agreed with him, and 
that very same night they followed his advice and provided them- 
selves with arms. They stormed the shops of the sword-cutlers, 


and took possession of five pieces of light artillery belonging to 
the proprietor of a ship, and even during this first night the name 
of Masaniello passed from mouth to mouth. 

The morning came, but it brought neither assistance nor 
repose. When the day dawned there was a beating of drums, a 
ringing of bells, and country people pouring in from all sides. 
The discontented vassals of the barons in the neighborhood, the 
banditti, and vagabonds of all kinds increased the masses of the 
populace of the capital, who were augmented by troops of hor- 
rible women, and children more than half naked, making the 
most dreadful uproar. Arms of all kinds were in the hands of the 
insurgents; some of them made use of household and agricult- 
ural implements both for attack and defence. Unfortunately, 
various powder-magazines fell into their hands. 

At Little Molo they stormed a house in which ammunition 
had been placed; it caught fire and blew up; about forty per- 
sons were killed and double the number wounded, most of them 
severely. The exasperation only increased. It was soon ob- 
served that it was not blind fury alone which conducted the re- 
bellion — clever management was evident. The Count of Mon- 
terey had given the people a sort of military constitution, as he 
divided them into companies according to the quarters of the 
town, which resembled those Hermandades which the Arch- 
bishop of Tortosa, afterward Pope Adrian VI, formed in the 
time of Charles V in Spain, and that afterward caused an insur- 
rection of the Communeros. This practice in the forms of war 
was now of use to the insurgents, and when on the second morn- 
ing some of the working classes and mechanics, and persons in- 
deed that belonged to a higher class of citizens, joined themselves 
to the actual mob, thinking to obtain a better government in con- 
sequence of the insurrection, the danger increased. The two 
principal leaders were Domenico Perrone, formerly a captain of 
sbirri, and Masaniello, whom the people about the market-place 
and the Lavinaro and its vicinity had chosen : but Giulio Ge- 
nuino conducted the whole affair by his counsel. 

A formal council of war was held in Castelnuovo. The Vice- 
roy was quite aware that the utmost he could do with his few 
troops would be to defend these fortresses of the town against the 
people, but that he could not subdue them. He was, moreover, 


reluctant to make use of fire-arms, as the insurgents proclaimed 
aloud everywhere their loyalty to the King. So he resolved to 
open a negotiation, to regain his lost ground, or at least to gain 

The Duke of Arcos has been accused of having, even in these 
early moments, conceived the plan to push the nobles forward, 
with the view to make them more hateful than ever to the popu- 
lace, and thus to annihilate their influence completely, a policy 
that was so much the more knavish the more faithfully the nobles 
had stood by him during these last eventful twenty-four hours, at 
the peril of their own lives. Whatever his plan may have been, 
the result was the same; whether the idea proceeded from the 
Duke of Arcos, or his successor, the Count of Onate, the insur- 
rection of 1647 caused the ruin of the aristocracy. 

The Prince of Montesarchio was the first whom the Viceroy 
sent as a messenger of peace. The name of D'Avalos was 
through Pescara and Del Vasto closely associated with the war- 
like fame of the times of Charles V. His reputation had been 
brilliant from the period of the Moorish wars until now. Great 
possessions secured him great influence in many parts of the 
kingdom. Montesarchio rode to the market-place provided with 
a written promise of the Viceroy's touching the abolition of the 
taxes. He took an oath in the church of the Carmelites that the 
promise should be kept; the people refused to believe him. 
Then the Duke of Arcos resolved upon sending others. The 
general of the Franciscans, Fra Giovanni Mistanza, who was in 
the castle, directed his attention to the Duke of Maddaloni. 

Diomed Carafa had been for some time again a prisoner in 
Castelnuovo. Transactions with the banditti and arbitrary con- 
duct toward the people had brought him to captivity, which was 
shared by his brother Don Giuseppe. For what reason he was 
selected for this work of peace, who had so heavily oppressed the 
lower classes, and had committed such acts of violence that he 
had the credit of being the leader of the most licentious cavaliers, 
is uncertain. It was said to be because he, as a patrician of the 
Seggio del Nido, had most counteracted the mischief of the tax, 
and therefore the populace was better inclined toward him than 
the members of the other sedeles. 

But others said, and indeed with more justice, that the ac- 


quaintance which he had with Domenico Perrone was the real 
cause of it; for this man had been first a leader of sbirri and then 
of banditti, and Diomed Carafa had had a great deal to do 
with both. However this might be, the Viceroy summoned him : 
he was to go to the great market-place and try to conclude a 
peace with the leaders of the people. There should be no fur- 
ther mention of his crimes or of punishment: Don Giuseppe 
Carafa was also received again into favor. 

The Duke mounted his horse and rode with several noble- 
men to the market-place. Arrived there, he employed all his 
eloquence. In the name of the Viceroy he promised free trade 
in all articles of food, and a general pardon. At first Madda- 
loni was well received. He was but too well known to many of 
the insurgents, and his mad conduct had procured him followers 
as well as enemies; but as he only repeated the same promises 
which had been made by the others, the crowd were out of humor. 
"No deceitful promises!" screamed a thousand voices; "the 
privileges, the privileges of Charles V." 

These privileges had long possessed the minds of the people. 
During the disturbances under the Duke of Ossuna many fabu- 
lous tales had been told about them. Genuino had then, as 
now, brought them forward. Not only freedom from taxes was 
contained in them, but an equality of power between the people 
and the nobility in the affairs of the town, by increasing the votes 
of the first, and by conceding a right of veto on resolutions affect- 
ing the people through the intervention of their deputies. This 
privilege they would have. This the Viceroy should confirm to 
them. They all screamed at the same time, but at last Madda- 
loni obtained a hearing. He promised to bring them the docu- 
ment — he would ask the Viceroy for it without delay. He was 
glad to escape the crowd, who prevented either himself or his 
horse from moving. 

Negotiations for peace could not check the fury of the people 
or its mania for destruction. As on the day before they had 
demolished the custom-houses, now the houses of all who had 
lately become rich were destroyed. They had already begun on 
the previous evening, but this was only a prelude. Masaniello, 
who had not left the market-place the whole day, drew up a cata- 
logue, in concert with his associates, of all the houses and palaces 


the effects of which were to be destroyed. Many noblemen who 
believed that they might have some influence with the mob, had 
ridden and driven to the market-place, but they returned home 
without accomplishing anything, or went again to Castelnuovo, 
where numbers of them took refuge from the pressure of neces- 

In the evening the flames burst forth in all parts of the town ; 
much valuable property was sacrificed amid the rejoicings of 
the frantic populace, who screamed : " That is our blood ; so may 
those burn in hell who have sucked it out of us ! " As on Sunday 
the Jesuits and Theatines, now the Dominicans tried to appease 
the people. Their long processions were to be seen in the square 
of the obelisk, moving on to the houses of Sangro, Saluzzo, and 
Carafa, with burning torches ; but the populace interrupted their 
prayers and litanies with angry words and many reproaches, and 
sent them home. Till late in the night the brilliantly lighted 
churches were filled with agonized supplicants. 

Early on the morning of July 9th, a more dreadful scene took 
place than on either of the earlier days. The destruction began 
at daybreak. All the property of the counsellor Antonio Miro- 
ballo, in the Borgo de' Vergini, was burning before his palace. 
Andrea Naclerio had caused the best furniture to be removed. 
The people traced it, destroyed it, dashed to pieces everything 
in the house and in the adjoining beautiful garden. At Alphonso 
Valenzano's everything that he possessed was ruined. In a place 
of concealment two small casks were found full of sequins, a box 
containing precious pearls, and a small packet of bills of ex- 
change — it was all thrown into the fire. All the rich and noble 
persons who were concerned in the farming of tolls, as well as 
all members of the government, saw their houses demolished. 
Five palaces of the secretary-general of the kingdom, the Duke 
of Caivano, together with those of his sons, were burned. In one 
of them at Santa Chiara the valuable pictures which that noble, 
a lover of the fine arts, had collected, were destroyed — the car- 
pets of silk-stuff interwoven with gold, the sumptuous silver 
vessels, and every sort of work of art, the worth of which was 
valued at more than fifty thousand ducats. The mob had al- 
ready become so brutal that they stabbed the beautiful horses in 
their stalls and threw the lapdogs into the flames, while they 


trampled down the rare plants in the gardens and heaped up the 
trees for funeral piles. Above forty palaces and houses were 
consumed by the flames on this day, or were razed to the ground, 
while the unhappy possessors looked on from the forts and watch- 
towers of Castelnuovo upon the rapid conflagration, heard the 
threatening of the alarm-bells and drums, and the howlings of the 
unbridled populace, among which many thieves were pursuing 
their business and filling their pockets with plunder. News 
came out of the neighborhood that the peasants were rising on 
all sides, and that many beautiful castles belonging to illustrious 
noblemen were already in flames. 

Stupefied by the uproar, by the advice of a hundred coun- 
sellors, by a two-days' insurrection, the Duke of Arcos did not 
nevertheless give up the attempt at a reconciliation. Certainly 
he risked nothing by it, for he had no other means in his power; 
but the hazard to the noblemen who delivered his messages was 
so much the greater. With great difficulty Montesarchio and 
Satriano escaped the rage of the populace. Six cavaliers were 
enclosed by barricades, and only regained their freedom by prom- 
ising to obtain the transmission of their privileges. To oblige 
the Viceroy the Duke of Maddaloni rode once more into the 
market-place, carrying with him a manifesto according to which 
all the gabelles which had been introduced since the time of 
Charles V were abolished, and a general amnesty granted for the 
crimes already committed. Scarcely had Diomed Carafa read 
the paper when the tumult began again worse than before. 

The bystanders screamed out that this was not what they 
wanted; he was deceiving them in concert with the Viceroy. In 
vain he sought to appease them. The tumult increased. Sud- 
denly Masaniello sprang upon the Duke. It was said that he 
had once received blows instead of gold from one of his servants 
when he had sold fish at his palace. Perhaps it is only one of 
the many fables that are attached to the name of the fisherman 
of Amalfi. Amid wild imprecations he seized the reins of his 
horse, took hold of the knight by his belt and long hair, tore him 
from the saddle with the assistance of his followers, and caused 
his hands to be tightly bound together by a rope ; then he deliv- 
ered the prisoner to Domenico Perrone and his associate Ber- 
nardino Grasso, to be strictly guarded. 


The last remnant of personal respect for the nobility which 
the populace had preserved on earlier occasions in the midst of 
all their disturbances, had now quite disappeared. The hand of 
Masaniello had torn asunder the tie of centuries of habit. The 
Viceroy was dreadfully shocked when he knew the danger into 
which Maddaloni had fallen for his sake. He sent the prior of 
the Johannites, Fra Gregorio Carafa, brother of the Prince of 
Roccella, and afterward grand master of Malta to try and 
obtain the freedom of the Duke. The sensible and placable 
words of the prior were as useless as his promises : the populace 
only answered him by screaming for the privileges of Charles 
V; for the privileges, in gold characters, which Giulio Genuino 
affirmed that he had seen. Gregorio Carafa felt himself in the 
same danger as Maddaloni, and returned to the castle without 
having accomplished anything ; but the populace swore that they 
would allow no parliament which did not deliver up the dccu- 

Masaniello' s prisoner did not remain long in confinement. 
The man into whose charge he had been committed was under 
old obligations to him. He conducted him into the convent of 
the Carmelites and confined him in one of the cells ; but when the 
night came he favored his flight. Diomed Carafa escaped out 
of the convent in disguise — the fearful tumult and the drunken- 
ness of the people were favorable to him. Unrecognized he 
gained his liberty ; he ascended to the foot of the heights of Capo 
di Monte, which overlook Naples and its gulf. He wandered to 
the farmhouse of Chiajano, a considerable distance from the 
town ; here he met a physician who was riding home after vis- 
iting a rich man, and he borrowed his horse. 

Thus, toward the dawn of day, crossing the streets that were 
known to him, he reached Cardito, a place on the road leading 
from the capital to Caserta. Maria Loffredo, to whom the place 
belonged, received him, and procured him the means of escape 
from the imminent peril of his life by forwarding him to La 
Torella in Principato, where the day before the uncle of his 
wife, Don Giuseppe Caracciolo, had retired with his family. 
Here the Duke found his wife and children, who, upon the 
news of his imprisonment, had placed themselves under the 
protection of their relations. The nobility fled on all sides 


when they not only saw their property, but even their lives, in 

But we must return to Naples, where one event followed an- 
other in rapid succession. When the Viceroy saw that the efforts 
of his messengers proved ineffectual, he resolved to invoke the 
aid of the Archbishop. He did it unwillingly, for the Spanish 
rulers never trusted the spiritual superior pastors of Naples, with 
whom they had perpetual disputes about jurisdiction. More- 
over, Cardinal Filomarino endeavored to stand as high in the 
favor of the people as he was low in that of his fellow-nobles. 
But the Duke of Arcos had no choice, and so he followed the 
advice of the papal nuncio, Monsignor Emilio Altieri, afterward 
Pope Clement X, and sent to the Archbishop to request him to 
come to the castle. 

Asconio Filomarino declared, in the presence of the members 
of the Collateral Council, that without producing the old docu- 
ment and the ratification of its contents any negotiation was use- 
less, and he would only undertake it under this condition. Then 
an eager search was instituted, and the charter of privileges was 
found among the archives of the town in the monastery of San 
Paolo. Armed with this the Archbishop went to the Carmine, 
where he was received with rejoicings. The adjacent market 
was now the head-quarters of the leaders of the people. Here 
business was transacted, from here orders were issued; here 
Masaniello, Genuino, and their adherents took counsel together, 
as did the Duke of Arcos and his faithful followers in the 
castle. None thought of returning home this fine summer 

The Archbishop soon perceived that he had deceived him- 
self in fancying that he could still the waves of this stormy sea. 
He became conscious that it was not this or that privilege which 
the tumultuous populace desired ; that their minds were chiefly 
bent upon destruction and murder, and after that upon obtain- 
ing quite different rights. While he read to them the old char- 
ter, and announced the new concessions of the Viceroy, he per- 
ceived how orders were issued and arrangements made that were 
in direct contradiction to his mission of peace. He saw the mis- 
chief spreading rapidly, that every moment was precious, and 
that the ruin of the city was no spectral illusion. He resolved 


not to leave the convent that night; indeed, to remain in it until 
the peace was entirely concluded. 

The apprehensions of the prelate were but too well founded. 
Another fearful evening ensued. The. rebellion had gained new 
strength from the successes of the afternoon. The people had 
stormed the convent of St. Lorenzo, and thereby got possession 
of the artillery of the town. Masaniello, with his troops, had 
made prisoners of war two divisions of troops which the Viceroy 
wished to gather round him out of Pozzuoli and Torre del Greco. 
All this only excited men's minds the more. The proscription-list 
of the day before did not appear long enough to the people ; they 
desired the destruction of thirty-six palaces of the nobility, and 
many were consumed by the flames. Houses were burning in 
the principal streets of the town, and the squares blazed with 
gigantic piles of furniture, pictures, books, and manuscripts — 
everything that was found was cast into the flames. 

The mothers ran to and fro with their children, whose little 
hands dragged after them what they could. As if around char- 
coal piles the charcoal-burners, those half-naked, half-savage 
inhabitants of the caves and alleys of the poisonous quarters of 
the poor in Naples, hovered with a fearful activity about these 
holocausts to the fury of the people, in perpetual motion and 
with unceasing cries and howlings. The entrances to the prin- 
cipal streets were secured by artillery; the bells were ringing in- 
cessantly, during which they carried about in procession effigies 
of Philip IV, proclaiming, "Long life to the King of Spain!" 
and planted the royal banner to wave together with that of the 
people, upon the lofty steeple of San Lorenzo. 

In this manner passed the night. Cardinal Filomarino re- 
mained in the convent of the Carmelites in active negotiation 
with the heads of the people. Many were the difficulties. The 
insurgents went as far as to demand that the castle of St. Elmo 
should be delivered up to them, and a wild storm burst out when 
the words of pardon and rebellion were mentioned in the con- 
cessions of the Viceroy. "We are no rebels!" they roared con- 
fusedly; " we want and need no pardon." 

The Archbishop was exhausted when the morning came and 
still no result. As the former day had ended in fire and desola- 
tion, so the present one — it was Wednesday, July 10th — com- 


menced with desolation and fire. The news of Maddalonfs 
flight was like pouring oil upon the flames. If he had escaped, 
his effects should atone for it. Already the day before they had 
wanted to set fire to his palace, as well as those of many of the 
Carafas, that of Don Giuseppe, of the Prince and of the prior of 
Roccella, of the Prince of Stigliano, and others belonging to the 

Now a dense multitude moved toward the Borgo de' Vergini, 
where, by the Church of Santa Maria della Stella, without the 
then city walls, Diomed Carafa resided. But the affair turned 
out differently from what they had expected. Armed servants 
occupied the house, numerous arquebuses glittered from the 
windows; and the people from the market and from Lavinaro, 
who knew Masaniello's bravos only too well, contented them- 
selves for the present with smashing some of the panes of glass, 
by flinging stones, and reserved their vengeance for a better op- 
portunity, which did not fail them. 

Masaniello had meanwhile, with a presence of mind and a 
dexterity to which our admiration cannot be denied, profited by 
the time to extend and strengthen the authority so rapidly ac- 
quired over his contemporaries and superiors. He held coun- 
sel and issued decrees with his associates — with Genuino, who 
continued the soul of the insurrection; With the new deputy of the 
citizens, Francesco Antonio Arpajo, Genuino's old accomplice 
in his intrigues — and some insignificant persons. If during the 
first three days everything had been done in wild confusion, now 
the insurrection was formally organized. 

The people were informed that they were to assemble accord- 
ing to their quarters in the town, and meet in the market-place. 
The companies were formed immediately; more than one of 
them consisted of women belonging to the lowest class. It may 
be imagined what a band they formed when we consider the 
horrid race of women belonging to this class at Naples, in which 
corrupt blood struggles for preeminence with dirt and rags. 

Masaniello now placed himself at the head of this troop of 
people, and marched with them in procession through the town. 
They were one hundred fourteen thousand in number, most of 
them provided with fire-arms; for all the shops and magazines for 
arms, as well as the houses of the nobility, had been ransacked. 


Those among the citizens who would not march with them were 
obliged to stand armed before their own dwellings at the com- 
mand of a fisherman, and in the name "of the most faithful 
people of the most faithful town of Naples, and in those who, by 
the grace of God and our Lord Jesus Christ and the Virgin 
Mary, hold in their hands the government of the same." 

Oppressive decrees were issued; on one side were the royal 
arms, and on the other those of the people. " This Masaniello," 
writes Cardinal Filomarino, "has risen in a few days to such a 
height of authority and influence, and has known how to acquire 
so much respect and obedience, that he makes the whole town 
tremble by his decrees, which are executed by his followers with 
all punctuality and obedience. He shows discretion, wisdom, 
and moderation; in short, he has become a king in this town, 
and the most glorious and triumphant in the world. He who 
has not seen him cannot imagine him ; and he who has cannot 
describe him exactly to others. All his clothing consists of a 
shirt and stockings of white linen, such as the fishermen are ac- 
customed to wear; moreover, he walks about barefooted and with 
his head uncovered. His confidence in me and respect for me 
are a real miracle of God's, whereby alone the attainment of 
an end or understanding in these perplexing events is possi- 

How the pious Archbishop deceived himself in thinking that 
he had obtained his aim ! Still he subdued the first storm which 
interrupted the negotiation, but the following one neither he nor 
anyone else could get the mastery over. He had been to Castel- 
nuovo to obtain from the Viceroy the ratification of the condi- 
tions stipulated for by the leaders of the people, and was on the 
point of concluding the agreement in the Carmelite monastery 
when in an instant the most dreadful tumult began. Domenico 
Perrone, who had remained near Masaniello, had showed him- 
self but little since the flight of the Duke of Maddaloni, because 
the suspicion was abroad that he had favored his escape. The 
church was full of men, who prevented the termination of the 
conferences, when this Perrone stepped up to the Fisherman and 
took his place by his side, as if he had something to tell him. At 
this moment a shot was fired; Masaniello hastened to the gates 
and cried out, " Treason!" 
E., VOL. xi.— 18. 


Many shots were fired behind him, none hit him. Things 
went on wildly in the market-place. From two to three hundred 
banditti attacked the populace, who quickly recovered them- 
selves and easily defeated the assailants. The most horrible 
carnage followed. ' ' The people, ' ' relates Filomarino, ' ' thronged 
with great violence to the convent, in the belief that there ban- 
ditti or their adherents were concealed. They ransacked every- 
thing, but found nothing excepting six barrels of powder. Your 
holiness may imagine the state of indescribable confusion of the 
town, while thirty thousand armed men, breathing rage and ven- 
geance, rushed about, murdering all suspicious persons. The 
worst part went on in the church and convent of the Carmine, 
where I was staying. In my room I gave many dying persons 
the absolution ; among them a tailor, who was shot down at my 

" When the carnage came to an end it was suddenly rumored 
that the banditti had poisoned the springs at Poggio Reale, 
which supply the greater part of the town with water. The fury 
of the people was again roused. I caused a pitcher of water to 
be brought, and drank it in the presence of many persons, which 
silenced the suspicion ; and as your holiness is much respected 
in this town, and even from the time in which you were a nuncio 
here, they have a pleasant recollection of you, so in the time of 
utmost need I bless the people in your name, and admonish them 
to be quiet for the love of you, which also does not fail of its 

The Viceroy was so much the further from coming to any 
agreement, the more Masaniello's power and authority increased 
and the more uncomfortable and dangerous the position of the 
Viceroy became, in the midst of a rebellious city, in the confined 
space in the castle, and a scarcity of provisions. He therefore 
thought himself obliged to discover in writing a knowledge of 
the unsuccessful plan of Diomed Carafa, and pressed the Arch- 
bishop to hasten the business. This was not easy, owing to the 
savage excitement of the victorious and drunken populace, and 
the intrigues of the artful advisers of the Fisherman, who were 
pursuing, at the same time, their own selfish aims. 

The streets were become to such a degree the theatre for deeds 
of violence that Masaniello issued an order that each person was 


obliged to keep a lamp or torch burning before his own dwelling. 
The assaults made with daggers, pocket pistols, and other short 
weapons were so frequent that, after the leader of the people had 
been twice shot at, a prohibition was issued against wearing 
cloaks and long clothes that could conceal such weapons. Even 
women were no longer allowed to wear certain articles of cloth- 
ing, which on account of their size were called guard infante, and 
even Cardinals Filomarino and Trivulzio laid aside their robes. 

In the most important positions of the city barricades were 
built with baskets full of earth and heavy planks for the double 
purpose of repelling the sallies of the Spaniards from the castle, 
and preventing them from receiving supplies from without. The 
people were masters of the whole town, with the exception of 
Castelnuovo, the park, and the adjoining artillery, and of the 
castles dell' Uovo, Sant' Elmo, and Pizzofalcone, positions which 
placed it in the power of the Spaniards to turn Naples into a heap 
of ruins if they made use of the artillery. But the Duke of Arcos 
wished to spare the town as long as possible, and the castles were 
weakly garrisoned, and still less stocked with provisions. 

At length on Thursday, July nth, on the fifth day of the in- 
surrection, an agreement was concluded. 

In the church of the Carmelites it was solemnly announced 
that the Viceroy had formally confirmed the old privileges of the 
town, and increased them by new ones, which were immediately 
made known. As a proof and seal of the reconciliation, Masa- 
niello, who had now, besides the power, the title also, of a captain- 
general of the most faithful people, was to have a conference with 
the Viceroy. It was difficult to persuade the Fisherman to take 
this step. He owned that he saw the gallows before him; he 
would confess thoroughly before he went, and it required all the 
Archbishop's power of persuasion to decide him. 

At last he consented, under the condition that the conference 
should be in the palace, and not in the castle. He previously 
issued a proclamation through the whole town to know how 
many armed men could be marched out. The answer was a 
hundred forty thousand, but three hundred thousand if there 
were arms ready for them. A number of men indeed poured 
forth from the environs, but it is easy to perceive the exaggera- 
tion of the numbers. When everything was arranged, Masa- 


niello began to dress himself; he had fasted the whole day, ex- 
cepting some white bread dipped in wine after the cardinal's 
physician had tasted it, for he was possessed with the idea of 
being poisoned, and almost starved himself. His dress was of 
silver brocade; he wore at his side a richly ornamented sword; 
his head was covered with a hat with a white plume in it. 

In such pomp he is represented in a remarkable picture by 
the hand of Domenico Garguilo — called Micco Spadone — whose 
paintings have represented to us many of the scenes of this revo- 
lution. The Fisherman of Amalfi is riding at the head of a 
tumultuous crowd, surrounded by adults and boys; his white 
horse is made to gallop; upon his breast is to be seen a medallion 
with a picture of the Madonna of Carmel. In the middle of the 
market-place, where the scene opens opposite to the church of 
the Carmelites, there are bloody heads ranged in a double row 
round a marble pedestal on which no statue is any longer to be 
seen, and the gibbet and the wheel await the new victims among 
those who are persecuted, or have already been dragged thither 
by the populace. 

The afternoon was already advanced when Cardinal Filo- 
marino got into his carriage, before the church, with his house- 
steward, Giulio Genuino, and two persons of his suite. Masa- 
niello rode at his right hand, and at his left Arpaja, the deputy of 
the people. In the streets through which the procession passed, 
from the market-place to the square of the castle, the people were 
armed, and formed into bands of six thousand companies, who 
lowered their colors before the cardinal and the captain-gen- 

Thousands and thousands had hastened thither to witness so 
remarkable a spectacle. In the square of the castle were placed 
over the gate of the palace of the Prince of Cellamare the effigies 
of Charles V and Philip IV under a canopy. Masaniello stopped, 
drew out the charter of the old privileges, together with the new, 
that he carried before him on his saddle, and spoke to the assem- 
bled crowd, to whom he announced that everything was settled. 
The people replied that what he had done was well done, and so 
the procession marched on, preceded by a trumpeter, proclaim- 
ing, "Long life to the King, and the most faithful people of 


The Viceroy had repaired to the palace, which had been 
hastily prepared. He received the deputation of the people in 
the saloon of Alva, where the frescoes recalled the most glorious 
times of Spain. 

Masaniello flung himself down before him; the Viceroy 
raised him up, with friendly, words, embraced him, went with him 
and the cardinal into the adjoining royal saloon, and when the 
throng of people filled the square and the uproar continued to 
increase, he entreated him to show himself on the balcony. 
Masaniello did it; but when he reentered the saloon he was so 
overpowered by the sensations of the day that he sank uncon- 
scious on the ground. Now the Viceroy became uneasy when 
he thought of the vengeance of the people if anything happened 
to their idol. But Masaniello recovered, and the actual confer- 
ence began. 

The articles of the treaty were confirmed, and their publica- 
tion was to take place two days afterward. Masaniello was 
recognized in his office as captain-general of the people, received 
a golden chain, and was conducted by the proud Duke to the 
stairs, and publicly called a faithful servant of the King and a 
glorious defender of the people. He kissed the hand of the Vice- 
roy, and was dismissed by him with another embrace. 

The peace was concluded, though not yet solemnly ratified; 
but how little did the state of the town correspond to it ! In the 
same night, while Masaniello was entertained by Cardinal Filo- 
marino, a cry was again raised of treason and banditti; watch- 
fires were kindled, and the clatter of arms heard. The captain- 
general of the people governed, as there was no magistrate in 
Naples. In the obscurity of the night he caused the heads of 
fourteen persons to be cut off, without trial or judgment, upon 
the accusation of their being banditti. He had a wooden scaffold 
erected before his house of the same sort as the booths of the 
mountebanks. Here he issued his orders, and printed decrees 
appeared: "By the command of the illustrious Lord, Maso 
Aniello of Amalfi. Captain-general of the Most Faithful People." 
He had memorials and petitions brought to him on the point of a 
halberd, and read to him by his secretary, upon which he issued 
his orders like an absolute ruler. 

The price of oil and of corn was fixed. It was forbidden to 


show one's self in the streets after the second hour in the night, ex- 
cepting to minister the last rites of the Church, or to visit the sick 
and women in labor. All priests were to present themselves, that 
it might be investigated whether they were real ecclesiastics or 
banditti in disguise. A number of burdensome directions about 
costume were published. There was a rich harvest for spies and 

What had been at the first a defence against tyranny and arbi- 
trariness became now only worse tyranny. No families of noble 
rank could remain. None could trust or even order about their 
servants, for Masaniello summoned the domestics to arms and 
rewarded their treachery to their lords. Armed bands, under 
known leaders, had formed themselves, and went their own ways 
unchecked. Five days were sufficient to put an end to all dis- 
cipline and order. During these wild doings no privacy could 
be had. If the errors of the nobility had been borne hitherto, 
now began the saturnalia of the populace, and they were far 
more bloody and horrible than those of the nobles. 

This was the condition of the town of Naples at the time when 
King Philip's Viceroy and the Captain-general of the Most Faith- 
ful People met in the cathedral on July 17th to publish solemnly 
the new treaty. The venerable church had witnessed many 
changes in the relations and destinies of the kingdom proclaimed 
in her vaulted halls, with the history of which it had, so to speak, 
grown up ; but never had it been the theatre for such a degrada- 
tion of the royal power. 

Before the ceremony took place, the Duke of Arcos was 
obliged to submit to many humiliations. No cavalier was al- 
lowed to accompany him in the procession, because Masaniello 
had forbidden it. The Fisherman had disarmed all persons of 
rank, but armed popolans stood in double rows along the streets, 
which were necessarily cleansed from dirt and rubbish, and the 
balconies were hung with tapestry. The Cardinal-archbishop, 
in pontifical attire, took his seat under the baldachin, while at 
some distance from him sat the Viceroy and Masaniello. The 
Knight of Alcantara, Donato Cappola, Duke of Canzano, read 
the articles instead of the secretary of the kingdom. The prin- 
cipal contents were the confirmation of the old privileges of Fer- 
dinand of Aragon till the time of Charles V; a remission of all 


guilt and punishment for crimes of lese-majestt, and, on account 
of the disturbances, an equality of the nobility and the people 
with reference to the number of votes in affairs of the town ; the 
abolition of all gabelles and taxes which had been introduced 
since the time of the emperor Charles V, with the exception of 
those upon which private persons had rights ; liberty of the mar- 
ket, and remission of punishment for the excesses committed 
in the destruction of houses and property. The ratification of 
the treaty from Madrid was to follow within the three months; 
till that time the people were to continue in arms. 

During the reading of these articles Masaniello had been very 
uneasy, and had made observations first on one point and then on 
another. When Donato Cappola had finished reading he wanted 
to take off his sumptuous dress of silver brocade in the middle 
of the church, because he declared that he was now nobody. 
When he was hindered from doing this, he flung himself upon 
the ground and kissed the feet of the cardinal. The Duke of 
Arcos swore to the contract, with his hand upon the Gospels. 
The Archbishop sang the Te Deum, and the people shouted 
"Long life to the King of Spain!" The companies fired their 
rifles ; the Viceroy returned through the streets, swarming with 
men, to the castle, and everywhere resounded the cry, "Long 
life to the King and the Duke of Arcos!" Then, as Masaniello 
returned home, the companies all lowered their colors as he 

The power of the Fisherman of Amalfi was at its height ; but 
already he was near his ruin. The unusual way of life, the al- 
ways increasing excitement, the constant speaking and watching, 
the small quantity of nourishment which he took from dread of 
poison — all this, in the most fearful heat of summer, affected him 
bodily and completely turned his head, His actions can only be 
explained by their being the beginning of insanity. If a crowd of 
people did not please him, he attacked and wounded them right 
and left. All the persons, amounting to a thousand, that lived 
near his cottage on the market-place he expelled from their 
dwellings, that these might be destroyed and he might build a 
large palace for himself. He lavished gold and silver with prod- 
igality, and gave a number of prostitutes rich dowries; he dis- 
tributed the titles of princes and dukes, gave great banquets at 


Poggio Reale and at Posilipo, to which he invited the Viceroy, 
and sent his wife and mother in magnificent dresses to visit the 
Duchess of Arcos. "If your excellency is the vice-queen of the 
ladies," said the Fisherman's wife, "I am the vice-queen of the 
women of the people." 

But fear of the Duke of Maddaloni haunted him like a spectre. 
He ordered his beautiful villa at Posilipo to be destroyed, and 
made his people ransack once more his pillaged palace at Santa 
Maria della Stella. The barber of the Duke and a Moorish slave 
bought their lives, the first by giving him various jewels that had 
been concealed, and the other told him that it was Diomed Ca- 
rafa who had caused the admiral's ship to be set on fire, which 
had been blown into the air the preceding May. The Moor, for 
this lie, obtained the command of four companies of the people. 
The Fisherman put to death many poor musicians merely 
because they had been in the service of Maddaloni. The 
Duke's correspondence was intercepted, but as it was written in 
cipher it only increased the suspicion. The new master of 
Naples repaired himself to the palace of Carafa, and wanted to 
dine there; but he changed his mind, and had a dinner served 
up with great pomp at a neighboring convent. 

While he was eating there, some of his people dragged thither 
two portraits of the Duke and his father, Don Marzio. Upon 
them he vented his childish rage; smashed the frames; cut out 
the heads, which he put on pikes, which he commanded to be 
placed on the table before him. On his return from the market 
he put on a suit of Carafa' s clothes, of blue silk embroidered with 
silver; he hung on his neck a gold chain, and fastened in his hat 
a diamond clasp, all the property of his enemy who had escaped. 
Then he flung himself on a horse, drew forth his pistols with both 
hands, and threatened to shoot anyone who approached him, or 
who showed himself at the windows, galloped to the sea, where 
was the gondola of the Viceroy, undressed himself in it, was 
dried with fine Dutch linen, and put on a shirt of Maddalo- 
ni' s trimmed with lace ; and hearing that Maddaloni had gone 
toward Piedimonte d'Alife, he ordered a troop of two thousand 
men to march thither and seize him. But as these men, undis- 
ciplined in arms, as usual played their parts as heroes better in 
the streets than in the open field, they fared wretchedly. 


The Prince of Colobrano, a cousin of the Duke's, with some 
other friends, surprised them suddenly in the mountains with not 
more than a hundred men. Many perished in battle, others of 
their exertions and hunger, and, when the intelligence of Masa- 
niello's unfortunate end reached them, the wretched remainder 
of the troops returned to Naples. 

Masaniello's supremacy was approaching its termination — 
madness and cruelty strove within him. It was the worst kind 
of mob rule. At the entrance of the Toledo, not far from the 
royal palace, a high gallows was erected. Every complaint was 
listened to, and no defence; no one felt secure in his home or 
in his family; the houses of the nobility all stood empty, and 
the most sensible of the people saw that the continuation of this 
state of things could only lead to universal ruin; the churches 
were profaned under the pretext that treasure or banditti were 
concealed in them ; the terrible decorations of the great market- 
place were increased by above two hundred heads, and spread a 
real plague under the scorching rays of the sun. Cardinal Filo- 
marino had either lost his influence or else the dread of losing 
his popularity made him impotent. Yet he wrote to the Pope: 
"The wisdom, the acuteness, and the moderation first shown by 
this man are entirely gone since the signature of the capitula- 
tion, and are changed into audacity, rage, and tyranny, so that 
even the people, his followers, hate him." 

Among these followers, before all, were Genuino and Arpajo ; 
but when they saw that they could do nothing with this hare- 
brained man, that everything was going to ruin, and that their 
own ill-acquired position was therefore in the greatest danger, 
they came to an understanding with the Viceroy and his Col- 
lateral Council. The Viceroy, in his own person, conferred 
with common murderers, and the Feast of Our Lady of Car- 
mel, on Thursday, July 16th, was fixed for the execution of the 

During the night all the military posts were strengthened, 
soldiers were concealed in different houses, and the galleys were 
brought near the shore. Silently and gloomily the masses filled 
the streets; a dull rnood seemed to have taken possession of every- 
one. The Archbishop was celebrating high mass in the church 
of Santa Maria del Carmine. Scarcely was it ended and the 


prelate gone when Masaniello, with a crucifix in his handj 
mounted the pulpit. His speech was a mixture of truth and mad- 
ness; he complained of the inconstancy of the people, enu- 
merated his services, described the oppressions that would fall 
upon them if they deserted him; he confessed his sins, and ad- 
monished the others to do the same before the Holy Virgin, that 
they might obtain the mercy of God, and as he raised the crucifix 
to bless the people a woman called to him to be silent, that the 
Mother of God would not listen to such nonsense. He began to 
undress himself in the pulpit, to show how emaciated he was by 
labor and sleepless nights. A Carmelite monk then sprang upon 
the lunatic, compelled him to descend the steps, and dragged him, 
with the assistance of the rest of the monks, into the convent, 
where, in a complete state of exhaustion, he flung himself upon a 
bed in one of the cells and fell asleep. 

The mercenaries hired by the Duke of Arcos and nine men 
belonging to the people had been for a long while in the church, 
armed with daggers and pistols. Scarcely was the divine ser- 
vice ended, which had been interrupted by this scandalous scene, 
when these men hastened to the convent and inquired for Masa- 
niello. The monks wanted to defend him ; an uproar took place. 
The sleeper awoke, believed that they were some of his followers, 
and hastened to the gates. At the same moment the murderers 
pressed into the passage and perceived their victim. Five shots 
were fired. Mortally wounded by one of them, he fell to the 
ground, while he covered his face with his hand, uttering the cry, 
"Ah, ye vagabonds!" 

Salvatore Cattaneo cut off his head with a blunt knife, seized 
hold of it by the hair, and hastened out with the cry, "Long life 
to the King of Spain!" The populace stood there thunder- 
struck; no sound was heard, but none detained the murderers, 
who hurried off. They soon met some small bands of Spanish 
soldiers, whom they joined, and exclaiming "Long life to Spain!" 
they went on. The Viceroy, accompanied by numerous noble- 
men, had just left the castle to go into the park when the news of 
the accomplishment of the deed reached him. It is said that he 
showed his joy in a way unbecoming his high rank; but Don 
Francesco Capecelatro, who was present, only remarks that the 
news arrived at the moment that the Duke of Arcos had said he 


would pay ten thousand ducats to any person who would bring 
him Masaniello dead or alive. 

The tumult began immediately afterward. The murderers 
came, bearing the head upon a pike; boys seized the corpse, 
dragged it through the streets, and buried it outside the city walls 
by the gate which leads to the market-place. Many best known 
as partisans of the murdered man atoned by their lives for their 
short day of power. His relations were secured. But still the 
humor of the people was so little to be trusted that the Viceroy 
caused the fortifications to be hastily put in repair. 

The news of the deed reached Cardinal Filomarino while on 
his way from the Carmine to his own house ; he went directly to 
the palace, and then rode with the Duke of Arcos and many of 
the principal nobles to the cathedral, and from thence through 
the streets to the market. The armed troops of people still stood 
everywhere; they lowered their colors with the cry, "Long life to 
the King and the Duke of Arcos!" The privileges were con- 
firmed and a general pardon proclaimed, from which only Masa- 
niello's brother and brother-in-law were excluded. 

Francesco Antonio continued to be deputy of the people; 
Giulio Genuino entered upon his promised office as one of the 
presidents of the chamber; on the very same day many of the 
nobles returned to their deserted mansions. 

The populace was still as if stunned; but as soon as the fol- 
lowing morning, when the price of bread was raised because the 
commissary-general of provisions and the bakers declared that 
it was quite impossible to subsist upon the hitherto low prices, 
the humor of the people suddenly changed. The mob com- 
plained that its hero and deliverer had been given up; they 
hastened to dig up the corpse; they sewed the head to the body, 
washed it, put on it some sumptuous clothes, and laid it with his 
bare sword and staff of command upon a bier covered with white 
silk; which was borne by the captains Masaniello had appointed. 
About four thousand priests conducted the procession by the 
order of the Archbishop, who wavered incessantly between the 
two parties, and excited more evil than good. The standard- 
bearers dragged their banners upon the ground, the soldiers low- 
ered their arms, the dull sound of muffled drums was heard. 
Above forty thousand men and women followed the coffin, some 


singing litanies, the others telling their beads. The bells pealed 
from all the steeples, lights were burning in all the windows. 
The procession had left the Carmine at the twenty-second hour 
of the day; it did not return till the third hour of the night. The 
corpse was lowered into the earth with the usual ceremonies in 
the vicinity of the church doors. 

Never had a viceroy or a great prince been borne to the grave 
as was Tomaso Aniello of Amain. 



A.D. 1648 


By the arbitrary impositions of the minister, Cardinal Mazarin, an 
insurrection was provoked in France whereby Mazarin was temporarily 
driven from power. This struggle is sometimes called the " War of the 
Fronde." and as an episode in French history, although productive of 
little definite result, it has a dramatic as well as a political interest. It 
shows the higher French nobility and the representatives of the people 
arrayed against the party of the court during the early minority of Louis 

" The Fronde " is the name that was given to the anticourt party. 
The word fronde means a sling, and the origin of its use as a party name 
is attributed to an epigram. Someone is said to have compared the 
Frondeurs, as the members of the party were called, to children with 
slings, who let fly stones and then hide or run away. 

This outbreak followed closely upon the conclusion of the Peace of 
Westphalia, which ended the Thirty Years' War. To Mazarin the great 
advantages gained by France through that treaty were mainly due. The 
whole period is remarkable for its antagonisms and cross-purposes, and 
these are brought to view by Hassall with much subtlety of insight and 
felicity of observation. 

^PHE Peace of Westphalia constitutes an important epoch 
in the history of Europe. It marked the close of the strug- 
gle in Central and Northern Europe between the Reformation 
and Counter-reformation movements, and the failure of the 
attempts of Emperor Ferdinand III to form all Germany into an 
Austrian and Roman Catholic empire. After the Peace of West- 
phalia, commercial rather than religious motives regulated the 
policy of the chief states of Europe. But the peace did not 
merely mark a revolution in men's ways of thought ; it also sig- 
nalized a remarkable change in the balance of forces on the 
Continent. For upward of a century the Hapsburgs, supreme 
in Vienna and Madrid, and closely united by family ties, had 



threatened to impose their will upon Europe. After 1648 the 
danger ceased. The weakness of the Emperor and the strength 
and independence of the German princes rendered any close 
union with Spain impossible, while Spain herself, though she 
struggled till 1659 against her impending fate, was already a de- 
clining power. 

From another point of view, the Peace of Westphalia had a 
special interest. It affords an admirable illustration of a suc- 
cessful effort on the part of the German princes to strengthen 
their own position at the expense of the central power. All over 
Europe the monarchical principle was being assailed. In Hol- 
land the power of the stadtholder depended entirely on the will 
of the merchant aristocracy; in England a republic was shortly 
to be established ; in Italy the revolt of Masaniello seemed at one 
time likely to lead to the formation of a Neapolitan government 
independent of Spain ; and even in Russia aristocratic discontent 
against the Czar existed. Thus the movement in France against 
Mazarin, which shortly developed into the Fronde struggle, was 
but one of many similar manifestations of a general tendency all 
over Europe to attack monarchical institutions. 

Mazarin was well aware of the impossibility of checking the 
general disaffection in France till Austria had been humbled, and 
therefore he devoted all his efforts to bringing the war to a suc- 
cessful conclusion. The actual congress was not opened at 
Munster till April 10, 1644, and it was not till the end of 1645 
that the negotiations seriously began. The questions to be set- 
tled were many and complicated. France and Sweden demanded 
compensations either in land or money; the Elector of Branden- 
burg wished to occupy all Pomerania, which the Swedes had 
seized ; the Elector Palatine demanded restoration to his domin- 
ions. Then there were innumerable questions dealing with the 
religious situation, the United Provinces, Italy, Catalonia, Por- 
tugal, the constitution of the empire, and the position of the Ger- 
man princes. 

Early in the proceedings Mazarin brought forward France as 
the protector of the ancient German liberties, and so secured the 
friendship of the imperial towns and the German princes. The 
Landgrave of Hesse, the Elector of Treves, and the Duke of 
Neuburg readily accepted the protection of France. It proved 


impossible to gain the fickle Duke of Lorraine; it was equally 
difficult to win over the powerful Elector of Bavaria. Maxi- 
milian I of Bavaria had played an important part in the Thirty 
Years' War, but from June, 1644, he began to enter into peri- 
odical negotiations with Mazarin. The cardinal placed no re- 
liance on these negotiations, which he recognized were meant 
to sow discord between France and her allies. Consequently 
it was not till after the battle of Nordlingen, followed later by 
the devastation of his territory by Turenne, that Maximilian 
made serious overtures to France. In an atmosphere of in- 
trigue such as existed at Munster, Mazarin did wisely in press- 
ing on military operations. 

There is no doubt that the continuation of the war had com- 
pletely disorganized the financial administration. Various de- 
vices such as the toise* had been employed by the government to 
raise funds, but each attempt had been met by fresh opposition. 
In 1647 recourse was had to a tax known as the Sdit du tariff 
which modified the existing regulations upon the entry of pro- 
visions into Paris. Great opposition was raised by the Parlia- 
ment, which still more violently opposed in January, 1648, a tax 
upon all possessors of lands. A lit de justice was necessary to 
provide for the requirements of the government. 

The operation of the unpopular tax, or rachat, as it was termed, 
was postponed, and the creation of many new maltres de requites 
provided a certain amount of money. At the lit de justice, Omer 
Talon, the intrepid avocat-gSnSral, delivered an eloquent oration 
on the condition of the French peasants. "For ten years, sire," 
he said, "the country has been ruined, the peasants reduced to 
sleep upon straw, their furniture sold to pay taxes. To minister 
to the luxury of Paris, millions of innocent people are obliged to 
live upon rye and oat bread, and their only protection is their 
poverty." The creation of new maitres de requetes was stoutly 
opposed, but in vain, Broussel distinguishing himself by his at- 
tack upon the government. 

Thus, while victory was being prepared by Turenne, Conde, 
and Schomberg, a revolution was breaking out in Paris, and in 
many other parts of the kingdom resistance to the government 
was the order of the day. Brittany and Toulouse showed especial 
audacity in their attacks on government officials. At his wits' 


end for money, Emery resolved to demand as a condition of the 
renewal of the paulette — a tax paid by those officials whose offices 
were hereditary — a fine of four years' salary. In the hope of con- 
ciliating the Parliament of Paris, the fine was not imposed on that 
body. The Parliament, however, placed itself at the head of the 
opposition, and on May 13, 1648, it and the sovereign courts — 
the chambre des comptes, the cour des aides, and the grand con- 
seil — signed a bond in union, and the courts decided to send rep- 
resentatives to a conference in the chamber of St. Louis. Like 
Louis XVI, in 1789, the Queen mother endeavored to prevent 
the meeting of the deputies. Like Louis, she failed in her object, 
and the court was forced to yield. The Spaniards had taken 
Courtrai, and it was well to temporize. 

Money was urgently needed, and Mazarin hoped, by appeal- 
ing to the patriotism of the Parliament, to obtain the requisite 
supplies. He represented that the conduct of the Parliament 
strengthened the cause of Spain and ruined the credit of France. 
Unless money was forthcoming it would be impossible to keep up 
the French armies or to maintain order at home. Catalonia 
would have to be abandoned, the alliance with Sweden and Hesse 
would be broken off; in a word, all would be lost. The Parlia- 
ment, however, was dead to all sense of patriotism, and was pre- 
pared to sacrifice the nation to its own petty interests. Orleans, 
who had joined the malcontents, promised that the deputies who 
had been imprisoned or exiled by Mazarin should be restored. 
Mazarin, hoping for some striking success on the frontier, deter- 
mined to temporize, and on June 30, 1648, in open defiance of 
the orders of the government, the chamber of St. Louis was con- 
stituted as a permanent political body to carry out reforms. 
With its establishment the First or Parliamentary Fronde began 
its stormy career. 

In appearance the Parliament of Paris was like the English 
Parliament, bent on securing valuable constitutional rights. Its 
members demanded proper control of the taxes, liberty for the 
individual, the abolition of lettres de cachet. But in doing so they 
were encroaching on the rights of the States- General, which was 
the only representative assembly of the French nation. And, 
moreover, it was soon evident that the Parliament aimed pri- 
marily at securing its own privileges. Each step in the struggle 


between the Parliament and the Crown brings out more conclu- 
sively the selfishness of the lawyers and their lack of statesman- 
ship. In the New or Second Fronde the nobles made no pre- 
tence of securing for the nation constitutional rights. They 
openly demanded provincial governments, pensions, and gifts of 

Thus the principal cause of the failure of the Fronde movement 
was apparent from the first. The Parliament had no constitu- 
tional basis; its opposition to Mazarin, which was in many 
respects justified, was tainted by the egoism and selfishness of its 
members. It had in reality no great aims ; it had no hold on the 
people. As time went on the movement was rapidly wrecked by 
the intervention of the nobles and court ladies. De Retz was 
under the influence of the Duchess of Chevreuse; the Duke of 
Beaufort was governed by the Duchess of Montbazon; Conde 
revealed all his plans to the Duchess of Chatillon, who conveyed 
them to Mazarin ; Turenne was encouraged in disloyalty by the 
Duchess of Longueville. There was no lack of ability on the 
side of the opposition; Mole and De Retz represented talents of 
different qualities, and the latter remained the most brilliant 
pamphleteer of the period. Rochefoucauld, who at one time was 
under the sway of the Duchess of Longueville, gives ample evi- 
dence in his Maximes of consummate ability and of a profound 
knowledge of human nature ; while Turenne and Conde, who at 
the period were united against the crown, were the two ablest 
generals of the day. 

Among other conspicuous men of the day who opposed Maza- 
rin, Chavigny and Chateauneuf were perhaps the most danger- 
ous. But the association of most of these heroes of the Fronde 
with the court ladies ruined all chances of success. Love-affairs 
and politics became hopelessly intermingled, and the New Fronde 
has remained a ridiculous episode in French history. Though 
the Old Fronde was narrow-minded and selfish, and the New 
Fronde absurd, the movements were fraught with great danger 
to the monarchy. In 1648 Mazarin at first failed to recognize 
the gravity of the situation, and he thought that he had only to 
combat the intrigues of some of the nobles. In the later phases 
of the struggle he often erred through his belief in diplomacy and 
his tendency to follow moderate counsels. But he never faltered 
e., vol. xi. — 19. 


in his determination to preserve the rights of the French mon- 
archy; he easily outmatched his opponents in intrigue; and 
eventually, supported by the bourgeoisie and the mass of the na- 
tion, he triumphed over both the Parliament and the nobles. 

Throughout the early months of 1648 the opposition of the 
Parliament was intensified by the folly and unpopularity of 
Emery, the superintendent of the finances, and by the failure of 
Mazarin to master the details of the French administrative sys- 
tem. Moreover, he had given some justification for the attacks 
made upon him by the favors which he showered upon his own 
relations, and by the means employed in order to secure for his 
brother the title of cardinal. The truth is Mazarin cared little 
for home affairs, and gave no thought to matters connected with 
the commerce and agriculture of France. Unlike Henry IV and 
Richelieu, he made no attempt to open up new sources of pros- 
perity for France by founding colonies, encouraging trade, intro- 
ducing manufactures, or protecting agriculture. His neglect of 
the internal administration was largely answerable for the finan- 
cial embarrassments of France, for the misery of the people, and 
to a large extent for the outbreak of the First Fronde. 

At the same time it must be remembered that his predecessor 
was in some measure responsible for the troubles which ensued 
after his death. Richelieu had made no efforts to reform the 
financial administration of France, and both the direct and indi- 
rect taxes were levied unfairly and oppressively. The financiers 
who farmed the indirect taxes made enormous fortunes out of the 
taxpayers; fraud and peculation were common; the provinces 
were in a state of wretchedness. The sale of offices, the system 
of farming the taxes, and the gabelle or tax on salt were left un- 
touched; the enormous and harmful concessions given to the 
nobles during the minority of Louis XIII had not been revoked 
or diminished. On his accession to office Mazarin found that 
the revenues of the next three years had been spent. Moreover, 
on Richelieu's death few men of marked capacity were to be 
found in France. Like Frederick the Great in the next century, 
Richelieu was jealous of any initiative on the part of his col- 
leagues. He gradually concentrated in his own hands all the 
threads of the administration and controlled the generals in the 
field. His system produced useful agents, but neither statesmen 


nor able commanders. The concentration of all authority in his 
own hands checked reforms in the government departments, and 
one writer has stated that "the Fronde would never have taken 
place if Richelieu had thought more of securing efficiency in those 
departments to which he could not give sufficient personal 
attention, and less on concentrating all authority in his own 

After Richelieu's death a policy of firmness, if not severity, was 
required. The easy rule of Anne of Austria, with its pardons 
and concessions, resulted in an increase of independence on the 
part of the nobles, and led ultimately to the Fronde. The policy 
of leniency brought numerous difficulties and dangers which 
Mazarin in the end succeeded in overcoming. That he was able 
to do so was probably due partly to his own perseverance, partly 
to the policy of Richelieu, who had weakened the nobles and the 
Parliament and deprived them of all substantial power. Had 
Richelieu lived the Fronde could never have occurred ; that it did 
occur "was due to Mazarin's inability to rule with the same iron 
hand as his more illustrious predecessor." 

Rarely had a minister, occupied in carrying on a prolonged 
war, been so involved in internal difficulties as was Mazarin. 
He had to superintend the movements of French generals in 
Flanders, Germany, Italy, and Spain, and at the same time to 
keep in constant communication with his agents at Munster, 
who carried on complicated peace negotiations under his instruc- 

During the earlier part of his ministry successes abroad 
strengthened the government at home and enabled it to take up a 
firm attitude toward its opponents. In 1643 the victory of Rocroi 
had aided in the establishment of Anne of Austria's regency; in 
1645 the triumph at Nordlingen had enabled Mazarin to suppress 
the rising opposition of the Parliament of Paris; and in 1646 the 
capture of Mardyke, Dunkirk, Piombino, and Porto Longone had 
effaced the recollection of the failure at Orbitello. But in 1648 
the situation at home was more critical and political passions 
ran high. Mazarin's neglect of the internal administration had 
led to the revival of the cabals suppressed in 1643, while the Par- 
liament of Paris found in the general misery and misgovernment 
of the country some justification for its opposition to the court 


and the minister. Turenne's victory of Zusmarshausen in May, 
1648, passed almost unnoticed in Paris, which was then seething 
with discontent. Mazarin, however, hoped that a victory won 
by the popular Conde in Flanders would at any rate arrest atten- 
tion, strike the imagination of the Parisians, and enable the Court 
to deal a telling blow at its opponents. 

That the opposition had any real ground of complaint Mazarin 
never seems to have acknowledged, and he certainly at this time 
failed to grasp the gravity of the situation. The leaders of the 
Parliamentary Fronde were to a great extent men who "repre- 
sented the highest type of citizen life" and who had the welfare 
of France at heart. In attacking a wasteful administration and 
a ruinous system of taxation, the Fronde movement is deserving 
of respect. There was much to urge against the frauds of con- 
tractors, unjust imprisonments, and the creation of new offices, 
and many of the suggested reforms of the chamber of St. Louis 
were excellent. On May 15, 1648, delegates from the four sover- 
° ; gn courts — the parliament, the grand conseil, the chambre des 
comptes, the cour des aides — had met in the chamber of St. Louis 
"to reform the abuses which had crept into the state." The 
thirty-two delegates who sat in that chamber formulated their 
demands, and practically claimed a share in the legislative au- 
thority. Their principal demands were : 

(1) That no tax should be levied unless previously voted by 
the Parliament of Paris; (2) that no one should be kept in 
prison for more than twenty- four hours without being tried; (3) 
that an investigation into the extortions of the farmers of the 
taxes should be made ; (4) that a quarter of the taille should be 
remitted, and that money gained from that source should be 
strictly appropriated to the wars; (5) that the intendants should 
be abolished; (6) that no new office should be created without 
the agreement of the Parliament of Paris. 

The Parliament of Paris thus proposed to take up a position 
similar to that occupied by the English Parliament. But the 
Parliament of Paris was unfitted to be a legislative body. It was 
merely a close corporation of hereditary lawyers, whose claim to 
political functions had been summarily dismissed by Richelieu. 
The demand for the abolition of the intendants at once testifies 
to its want of statesmanship. 


Among Richelieu's beneficial measures none was more valua- 
ble than the appointment of the intendants. By abolishing them 
the Parliament of Paris was threatening the unity of the whole 
internal administration. Without the intendants the provinces 
would once again fall into the incapable hands of the nobles, 
feudalism would again be rampant, and general confusion and 
anarchy would ensue. The Parliament no doubt attacked the 
intendants in the hope of succeeding to their functions and thus 
securing a considerable voice in the administration of the prov- 
inces. The intendants, too, whose full title was " intendants of 
justice, police, and finance," had often infringed upon the jurisdic- 
tion of the Parliament, which was always jealous of any invasion 
of its judicial powers. The proposals of the chamber of St. Louis 
constituted a distinct attack on the royal power; they also im- 
plied on the part of the sovereign courts an invasion of the rights 
of the nation. The King alone had legislative power, and the 
States- General alone had the right to present to him their griev- 
ances. At this crisis it is evident that the Parliament wished to 
supersede the States- General and to take their place. Such a 
usurpation on the part of a body of lawyers could not be tolerated 
either by the government or by the nation, and the resistance of 
the former eventually received the full support of the French 

Anne of Austria, in her determination to preserve for her son 
all the royal prerogatives intact, was furious at the demands of 
the sovereign courts, and was prepared to enter upon a contest 
with them without delay. Mazarin, however, persuaded her to 
temporize. Orleans, on July 7th, presided over a conference in 
his palace, and certain concessions were made by Mazarin to the 
opposition. The superintendent, Emery, was dismissed, and the 
incapable Marshal de la Meilleraye substituted. A chamber of 
justice was set up, to deal with all abuses connected with the 
financial administration. Over the abolition of the intendants 
there was much angry discussion. Eventually Anne gave a re- 
luctant consent to the suppression of all except those in Langue- 
doc, Provence, the Lyonnais, Picardy, and Champagne. During 
these conferences Orleans showed a sympathy with the Fron- 
deurs and it was evident that he would not uphold the royal cause. 
Being determined at the first opportunity to resist the pretensions 


of the Parliament, and being desirous to sound the loyalty of 
Conde, Anne and Mazarin summoned the Prince to Paris. It 
was probably arranged at some interviews which took place on 
July 19th and the following day that the Prince should first crush 
the Archduke Leopold and then return to aid the government in 
overcoming the resistance of the Parliament. 

Till Conde* had won a decisive victory the government thought 
it well to continue to temporize, and Anne of Austria simulated a 
desire to satisfy all the demands of the Frondeurs. On July 31st 
a royal declaration agreed to the majority of the claims made by 
the sovereign courts in the chamber of St. Louis. No satisfac- 
tory guarantee was, however, given with regard to the personal 
liberty of the subject, and Broussel and other extremists con- 
tinued to agitate. The situation, which in many respects resem- 
bled that of 1792, remained critical, the Frondeurs desiring 
further radical changes, while the court anxiously awaited devel- 
opments on the frontier. At last, on August 22, 1648, arrived 
the news of Condi's victory at Lens. 

"Heaven has at last declared in our favor," wrote Mazarin, 
"in the Low Countries no less than in other places." The vic- 
tories of Zusmarshausen, Tortosa, and Prague had now been 
crowned by the victory of Lens. The superiority of the French 
arms was proved, and the courts prepared to crush the opposition 
of the Parliament. The success at Lens would in Mazarin's 
opinion enable him to force Spain to make peace, and to triumph 
over the Parliament. By the advice of the Count of Chavigny, 
the King's council — which included, besides the Queen Regent 
and Mazarin, the Dukes of Orleans and Longueville, the chan- 
cellor, Seguier, and Meilleraye, the superintendent of the finances 
— decided, like the court of Louis XVI in July, 1 789, to carry out 
a coup oVttat and to arrest three members of the Parliament — 
Broussel, Blancmesnil, and Charton. The arrests were to take 
effect in August. On August 26th, the day on which a Te Deum 
was being sung in Notre Dame in honor of the victory at Lens, 
the attempt to carry out the coup d'etat was made. Unlike 
Charles I in his attempt to arrest the five members, the action of 
the French government was partially successful. Charton in- 
deed escaped, but Broussel and Blancmesnil were seized. The 
populace of Paris at once rose and erected barricades. The 


whole city was in an uproar. The news that Masaniello had 
headed a rising in Naples against the tax-gatherers helped to ex- 
cite the mob, just as the victories of the English Parliament had 
encouraged the aspirations of the French Parliament. At this 
point Paul de Gondi, better known as the Cardinal de Retz, the 
intriguing coadjutor of the Archbishop of Paris, became promi- 
nent. He appeared at the Palais Royal and advised the Queen 
Regent to yield to the popular wish and release Broussel and 
Blancmesnil. Having failed in his object, he set to work to in- 
flame still more the passions of the multitude. On August 27th 
the situation became yet more serious, and the chancellor, Se- 
guier, attacked by the mob, nearly lost his life. 

The Parliament endeavored, at first without success, to induce 
Anne to release the prisoners; but at length, yielding to the 
advice of Orleans and Mazarin, she consented to a compromise. 
The Parliament agreed not to interfere in political matters, and 
Broussel and Blancmesnil were released. The barricades dis- 
appeared and outwardly Paris was pacified. 

But all danger was by no means over. The Duke of Longue- 
ville had during the troubles held a very ambiguous attitude, and 
it was evident that he and other nobles were not loyal to the court. 
The troops had shown signs of mutiny; the days of the League 
seemed likely to return. On August 29th Mazarin made certain 
suggestions to the Regent which testified to his foresight and de- 
termination. He was resolved to restore the royal authority and 
to subdue the Parliament. He was determined to enforce the 
supremacy of the King in Paris, and till that had been accom- 
plished the reputation of France would suffer abroad, trade would 
languish, the conclusion of the war would be deferred. Like 
Mirabeau, Mazarin recognized the necessity of removing the 
King and court from the influence of the capital. He therefore 
advised the departure of the court to Rueil, Conflans, or St. 
Maur, where the return of Conde could be awaited. On that 
general's arrival Paris could, if necessary, be coerced by force of 
arms. Meanwhile he urged the adoption of temporizing meas- 
ures and of a policy of conciliation, with the object of dividing 
the enemies of the royal authority. Many of the bourgeoisie 
were opposed to the late seditious conduct of Paris, and the older 
members of the Parliament were disposed to peace. But a pow- 


erful party in the Parliament was determined to regain its politi- 
cal powers, and on the instigation of De Retz held meetings in 
order to consult upon the necessary measures to be taken. More- 
over, the Count of Chavigny had deserted the cause of the court 
and urged the Parliament to resist Mazarin to the uttermost. It 
was obvious that a further collision between the royal authority 
and the Parliament was inevitable. 

Mazarin's mind was made up. On September 13th the court 
moved to Rueil, where it was joined by Orleans, Seguier, Meil- 
leraye, and Cond^. Two of the Cardinal's opponents, the Mar- 
quis of Chateauneuf and the Count of Chavigny, at once felt the 
heavy hand of the minister. The former was exiled; the latter 
was placed under arrest. The attempt of a deputation of the 
Parliament, headed by its president, Matthieu Mole, to secure 
the release of Chavigny and to induce the Queen Regent to return 
to Paris, failed, and the King's council annulled the decree of the 
Parliament itself. The Parliament prepared to take defensive 
measures, but the outbreak of hostilities was averted by the tem- 
porary triumph of a pacific spirit in the court. It is difficult 
to account for this sudden change; it was probably due to the 
fact that Mazarin could not depend upon the whole-hearted sup- 
port of Conde in carrying out an energetic policy. Conde indeed 
stood apart from De Retz and looked with contempt upon the 
"long- robed" Parliament as much as he did upon the canaille. 
Like Napoleon he scorned mob rule and disorder. But for years 
he had been alienated from Mazarin, and hated him as much as 
he despised the Frondeurs. 

Yielding to the persuasions of De Retz, Conde advocated the 
assembling of a conference, hoping to bring about Mazarin's 
exclusion from its meetings. The conference first met at St. 
Germain on September 25th, the royal authority being repre- 
sented by Orleans, Conde, Conti, and Longueville; and it lasted 
ten days, till October 4th. After long discussions the members 
agreed to an ordinance, which was published on October 22, 
1648, and known as the Declaration of St. Germain. Most of 
the demands of the chamber of St. Louis were conceded. The 
financial, judicial, and commercial administration of the kingdom 
was regulated, and measures were taken to check arbitrary ar- 
rests and to reform the methods of taxation. This ordinance 


was the most important act of the First or Parliamentary Fronde, 
and represents the high-water mark of constitutional advance 
made by the Parliament and its supporters. It almost seemed 
that constitutional life was at last to begin in France. 

But if examined closely the Declaration of October 22d bears 
full evidence as to the selfish and narrow aims of the Parliament, 
and shows how every so-called constitutional effort on its part 
was tainted by its determination to secure its own privileges. In 
the declaration it is specially stated that the charges and priv- 
ileges of the Parliament should be guaranteed. Though the reg- 
ular payment of the rentes of the H6tel de Ville — a matter in 
which the bourgeoisie was interested — was enforced, and though 
there was a reference in general terms to the amelioration of the 
lot of the mass of the people, the declaration was principally 
concerned with securing and confirming the privileges of the 

So far Mazarin and Anne had been forced to yield, and the 
Parliament had apparently won the day. But Mazarin had only 
simulated a yielding spirit; in reality, he was more determined 
than ever to establish the royal authority, to crush all opposition 
in Paris by a concentration of troops under a trusted commander. 
By his advice Anne had made promises which she never intended 
to keep, and Mazarin was simply biding his time. One of his 
most striking characteristics was his perseverance in carrying out 
his plans. Having fixed upon a policy, he carried it through in 
the end, though compelled to adopt various and unexpected 
methods before success was attained. It is noteworthy that the 
treaty of Westphalia and the treaty with the Frondeurs were 
signed on the same day. It is equally noteworthy that, while the 
Frondeurs were seemingly triumphant, Mazarin was making 
careful preparations for the civil war which he regarded as in- 

On October 24, 1658, the Peace of Westphalia was signed be- 
tween France and Sweden on the one hand and the representa- 
tives of the Emperor and the empire on the other. France 
secured Upper and Lower Alsace, the Sundgau, and the prefect- 
ure of ten imperial towns ; in other words, the practical owner- 
ship of Alsace, though the rights of the imperial princes were for 
a long time a matter of difficulty. She also obtained recogni- 


tion of her possession of (i) Metz, Toul, and Verdun, the three 
bishoprics conquered by Henry III, with their districts; (2) of 
Old Brisach, situated on the right bank of the Rhine ; while the 
privilege of keeping a garrison in Philippsburg was also granted 
to France. Further, no fortress was to be placed on the right 
bank of the Rhine between Basel and Philippsburg. Indirectly 
France gained enormously. Her ally, Sweden, secured a foot- 
hold in Northern Germany, together with a vote in the Diet ; and 
the practical independence of the princes of the empire was 

Mazarin had successfully carried on the foreign policy of 
Richelieu, and the situation of the great European states in 1648 
speaks volumes for his skill and energy. The power of the house 
of Hapsburg was in many respects seriously curtailed. The 
Austrian branch could no longer aim at establishing a universal 
monarchy, and came out of the war with its resources much 
weakened. The Spanish branch had lost its preponderance in 
Italy, Portugal had regained her independence, Catalonia was in 
revolt. Though Spain continued the war till 1659, she only lost 
by doing so, and her defeats and losses strengthened the position 
of France. French influence remained supreme in Germany for 
some thirty years, and was only destroyed by the ambition and 
shortsightedness of Louis XIV. Mazarin had not merely ad- 
vanced the boundary of France toward the Rhine; he had estab- 
lished French preponderance in Europe, and had insisted on the 
recognition of the balance of power. The Peace of the Pyrenees 
in 1659 completed the work of the pacification of Westphalia. 
The conclusion of the war between France and the Emperor was 
hardly noticed in Paris, and this fact in itself is a striking illustra- 
tion of the want of patriotism of the Frondeurs. Moreover, De 
Retz, in October, 1648, was actually considering the advisability 
of inviting the Spaniards to march on Paris. His plan was to 
send St. Ibal, his friend and relation, to Brussels to engage 
Fuensaldana to advance. Already the Parliamentary Fronde was 
falling into the hands of plotters and traitors. 

On October 30th the court returned to Paris, and two months 
of anxiety followed. Orleans was with difficulty induced to 
forego his feelings of resentment toward Mazarin and to remain 
faithful to the royal cause. His support was all the more valu- 


able as the Parliament was disposed to harass the government 
at every opportunity. It complained that the promises in the 
Declaration of October 2 2d were not carried out; that the griev- 
ances of the taxpayers had not been remedied; moreover, like 
the National Assembly in 1789, it was much agitated at the 
gradual concentration of troops around Paris. Though Orleans 
and Conde visited the Parliament in December and promised 
that the Declaration of October 2 2d should be loyally executed, 
the attacks on the government, and especially on Mazarin, in- 
creased in violence. 

Countless pamphlets styled mazarinades were published con- 
taining abuse of the Cardinal. "It was the fashion to hate 
Mazarin," is the declaration of a court lady, and the hatred was 
shared by the nobles and the workmen of Paris. He gained no 
thanks for the conclusion of the Peace of Westphalia, but was 
attacked for not bringing the war with Spain to a close. These 
attacks on the Cardinal were intensified by the support which 
they gained from De Retz. In the existing complications lay his 
chance of securing at least notoriety. Utterly unprincipled, and 
absolutely devoid of any patriotic feelings, De Retz hoped dur- 
ing the coming troubles to become the practical ruler of Paris. 
For five years Paris read little else but mazarinades, which, 
with very rare exceptions, were utterly devoid of literary merit. 
These attacks on his authority and position implied, in Mazarin's 
opinion, the growth of revolutionary views, and he warned the 
Queen-mother that the situation in France resembled that in Eng- 
land at the opening of the civil war. He thought that his own 
position was like Strafford's, and he was prepared to act vigor- 
ously. The encroachments on the royal power increased, and the 
Cardinal advocated a fresh retirement from Paris. On January 
5, 1649, the court, under circumstances of haste and secrecy, 
moved suddenly to St. Germain, and the Parisians the following 
morning "saw war, siege, and famine at their gates." 

The civil war had begun, and continued from January 6 to 
April 1, 1649. Mazarin hoped, by means of the troops, to cut 
Paris off from all supplies and to starve it into surrender. But 
the army of fifteen thousand was not large enough for carrying 
out so elaborate a scheme, and Mazarin had to be content with 
occupying the principal posts outside the city. Under Conde* the 



military operations were efficiently performed, and the Parisians, 
with their hastily raised army, could do little but defend them- 
selves. Though risings took place in the North and Southeast, 
the war of the First Fronde concentrated itself round the capital. 
At first Paris adopted a bold attitude. Under the influence of 
the Duchess of Longueville, who now " sank to the level of a mere 
adventuress," the Frondeurs were joined by many princes, such 
as her brother the Prince of Conti, her husband the Duke of 
Longueville, the Marshal de la Mothe, the Duke of Bouillon, and 
the Duke of Beaufort. The latter, together with De Retz, be- 
came the real leaders of the resistance to the court, and were the 
last to be reconciled to the government. While De Retz headed 
the Parliamentary movement, Beaufort, "the idol of the mar- 
kets," led the mob. Hoping to stir up the provinces, the Duke of 
Longueville proceeded to Normandy; but Mazarin at once sent 
the Count of Harcourt to suppress all rebellious movements. In 
spite of this danger, and of small risings in the Southwest, the war 
of the First Fronde was mainly an attempt on the part of the 
Parliament of Paris to remedy certain existing evils in the gov- 
ernment, though De Retz hoped to win a decisive success by 
means of the treason of Turenne. 

The treason of Turenne was more serious than possible rebel- 
lions in the provinces. That general, perhaps beguiled by the 
Duchess of Longueville, proposed to lead his army, composed 
mainly of Germans, to Paris. Fortunately, the German auxil- 
iaries refused to follow him, and Turenne was compelled later 
to retire to Heilbronn, and thence to Holland. 

Freed from all fear of any serious risings in the provinces, and 
for the moment from any hostile movement on the part of Tu- 
renne, Mazarin was able to devote his energies to the task of 
subduing Paris. There, on January 12th, the mob had seized 
the Arsenal, and had secured possession of the Bastille. Two 
days later, on January 14th, Beaufort occupied Charenton, im- 
portant as facilitating the entry of provisions into Paris. Pos- 
sessed of Charenton and of the town of Brie-Comte-Robert, the 
Parisians could feel secure from all danger of being starved into 

In spite, however, of these successes, and of the continual 
efforts of De Retz and Beaufort, the Parisian levies proved no 


match for Conde's regular troops, before whom they fled on Jan- 
uary 23d and again on January 29th. These reverses, together 
with the loss of Charenton on February 8th, encouraged the party 
of moderation among the clergy and the members of the Parlia- 
ment to raise their voices in favor of peace. The people in Paris 
were becoming weary of the war, resented the sufferings to which 
they were subject, and complained of the conduct of their gen- 
erals. From being a determined stand for liberties and reforms, 
the war was already showing signs of degenerating into a mere 
selfish struggle on the part of the nobles against the centralization 
of the royal power, and especially against Mazarin. 

In many respects the siege of 1649 foreshadowed that of 1870. 
There were the same levity and anarchy, the same endurance and 
courage. Conde and Moltke both experienced similar difficul- 
ties in their attempts to subdue the French capital. Through 
the influence of De Retz negotiations were entered into with 
Spain, and a Spanish envoy arrived in Paris. But a reaction had 
begun, and the moderate party in the Parliament protested 
against dealings with Spain. The clergy favored a settlement, 
and the news of the execution of Charles I shocked the con- 
sciences of the more reasonable men on both sides. The loss, too, 
on February 25th, of the town of Brie-Comte-Robert increased 
enormously the difficulty of securing supplies. Though De Retz 
remained master of the Parisian populace, and intractable, and 
though the nobles of the Fronde stood aloof, moderate counsels 
prevailed, and on February 28th the Parliament decided to send 
deputies, who should treat, not with Mazarin, but with the courts. 
The interests of the royal cause demanded a settlement, even 
though of a temporary character. Turenne was still anxious to 
march to the aid of Paris, the Archduke Leopold was ready to 
invade France, and some of the French governors of frontier 
towns were intriguing with the Spaniards. Concessions were 
therefore advisable. On March 1 ith a compromise was patched 
up, known as the Treaty of Rueil. But in Paris the terms were 
refused. The extreme members of the Parliament were furious 
when they realized that Mazarin was to remain in power, and 
that, till the end of 1649, the Parliament was not to discuss politi- 
cal questions. It was not till April 2d that the treaty, slightly 
modified, was accepted, and the twelve-weeks' war came to an 


end. The right of the Parliament to take some part in state 
affairs was reluctantly allowed by Mazarin, and the treaty was 
registered; the Parisian troops were then disbanded. But the 
main object of the Frondeurs, the expulsion of Mazarin from 
France, remained unfulfilled, and the people and nobles regarded 
the treaty with no enthusiasm. 



A.D. 1649 


Whatever peculiar credit may belong to the first colonists in other 
parts of North America for their services to human rights and liberty, it 
remains the signal glory of the Maryland founders to have established, 
almost at the beginning of their enterprise, the principle and practice of 
religious tolerance, at least within the limits of Christian faith. 

From the planting of the colony by Cecilius Calvert, an English 
Roman Catholic, in 1633, to the formal enactment of " Toleration " was 
only sixteen years, but the colonists were fully ripened for the step when 
it was taken. Their new settlement had, in fact, begun " with Catholic 
and Protestant dwelling together in harmony, neither attempting to inter- 
fere with the religious rights of the other, 4 and religious liberty obtained 
a home, its only home in the wide world, at the humble village which 
bore the name of St. Mary's.' " 

'"PHE charter of Maryland was a compact between a member 
of the English and a disciple of the Roman Church; be- 
tween an Anglo- Catholic king and a Roman Catholic noble; be- 
tween Charles I of England and Cecilius, the second Baron of 
Baltimore, and the First Lord Proprietary of Maryland. To the 
confessors of each faith it was the pledge of religious freedom. 
If not the form, it had the spirit and substance, of a concordat, in 
a sense quite as strong as any of those earlier charters of the Eng- 
lish crown, to which the chief priest of Rome was, in any re- 
spect, a party. This is the inference faithfully drawn from a 
view of the instrument itself; from a consideration of the facts 
and circumstances attending the grant ; and from a study of the 
various interpretations, essays, and histories of the many dis- 
courses and other publications which have appeared upon this 
prolific theme. It accounts for the prohibition of any construc- 
tion of the charter inconsistent with the "true Christian relig- 



ion." ■ This in a grant to the Roman Catholic Proprietary is 
intended doubtless as a simple security for the members of the 
English Church. 

It suggests the reason, also, why the obligation to establish the 
religion of Englishmen was omitted in the case of Maryland, but 
expressly or tacitly imposed, either by the charters or by the or- 
ders given to most, if not all, of the other Anglo-American colo- 
nies. It is not less in harmony with the supposition of King 
Charles' regard for the rights of his Anglo- Catholic brethren, 
who subsequently came to St. Mary's, than with that generally 
admitted sincerity of Lord Baltimore, which cannot be recon- 
ciled to the notion of his accepting a grant directly opposed to 
the principles or to the practice of his own faith. It is supported 
by the fact that the object of the Calverts, in asking for the char- 
ter, was to found a colony, including the members respectively 
of the English and of the Roman Church — an object which, we 
cannot doubt, was known to the King who signed the instru- 
ment. And it is fully confirmed by the action of the provincial 
Legislature — the best commentary upon the spirit of the charter 
— and by one of the first judicial decisions still preserved upon 
the records. 

Such is the meaning of the charter historically interpreted, 
and such the earliest principle and practice of the government 
— freedom to the Anglican and freedom to the Roman Catholic 
— a freedom of conscience, not allowed, but exacted. A freedom, 
however, of a wider sort springs forth at the birth of the colony 
— not demanded by that instrument, but permitted by it — not 
graven upon the tables of stone, or written upon the pages of the 
statute-book, but conceived in the very bosom of the Proprie- 
tary and of the original pilgrims — not a formal or constructive, 
but a living, freedom — a freedom of the most practical sort. It 
is the freedom which it remained for them, and for them alone, 
either to grant or to deny — a freedom embracing within its range, 
and protecting under its banner, all those who were believers in 
Jesus Christ. And the grant of this freedom is that which has 
placed the Proprietary among the first law- reformers of the 

1 The words in the English copy of the charter are " God's holy and 
true Christian religion " ; in the Latin, " Sacrosancta Dei et vera Chris- 
tiana religio." 


world, and Maryland in advance of every State upon the conti- 

Our ancestors had seen the evils of intolerance; they had 
tasted the bitter cup of persecution. Happy is he whose moral 
sense has not been corrupted by bigotry, whose heart is not hard- 
ened by misfortune, whose soul — the spring of generous impulse 
— has never been dried up by the parching adversities of life! 
The founders of Maryland brought with them, in the Ark and 
the Dove, the elements of that liberty they had so much desired, 
themselves, in the Old World, and which to others in the New, 
of a different faith, they were too good and too just to deny. 

Upon the banks of the St. Mary's, in the soil of Maryland, 
amid the wilderness of America, they planted that seed which 
has since become a tree of life to the nation, extending its 
branches and casting its shadows across a whole continent. The 
records have been carefully searched. No case of persecution 
occurred during the administration of Governor Leonard Cal- 
vert, from the foundation of the settlement of St. Mary's to the 
year 1647. His policy included the humblest as well as the most 
exalted; and his maxim was, " Peace to all — proscription of 
none." Religious liberty was a vital part of the earliest common 
law of the province. 

At the date of the charter (1632) toleration existed in the 
heart of the Proprietary; and it appeared in the earliest admin- 
istration of the affairs of the province. But an oath was soon 
prepared by him, including a pledge from the Governor and the 
privy counsellors, "directly or indirectly," to " trouble, molest, 
or discountenance" no " person whatever," in the province, 
"professing to believe in Jesus Christ." Its date is still an open 
question; some writers supposing it was imposed in 1637, and 
others in 1648. I am inclined to think the oath of the latter was 
but "an augmented edition" of the one in the former year. 

The grant of the charter marks the era of a special toleration. 
But the earliest practice of the government presents the first; 
the official oath, the second; the action of the Assembly in 1649, 
the third, and, to advocates of a republican government, the 
most important phasis, in the history of the general toleration. 
The oath of 1648 is worthy of attention in another particular. 
It contained a special pledge in favor of the Roman Catholics 
e., vol. xi. — 20. 


— a feature which might have been deemed requisite, in con- 
sideration of the fact that the Proprietary had appointed a Prot- 
estant gentleman for the post of lieutenant-general or governor. 
Some also of the privy counsellors were of the same faith. 

The little provincial Parliament of Maryland assembled at 
St. Mary's, in the month of April, during the year 1649. This 
was about fifteen years after the landing of the Pilgrims, under 
Governor Calvert; about thirty years later than the settlement 
of the Puritans at Plymouth ; and more than forty subsequently 
to the arrival of the Anglo- Catholics at Jamestown, in Virginia. 
The members of the assembly at St. Mary's met in a spirit of 
moderation, but seldom the characteristic of a dominant party. 
The province was at peace with the aboriginal tribes within its 
limits. The unhappy contest with Colonel William Clayborne 
had been virtually terminated ; the rebellions of Captain Richard 
Ingle and other Protestant enemies effectively suppressed; the 
reins of government recovered, and the principles of order once 
more established. 

Governor Calvert, the chief of the Maryland Pilgrims, after 
a trying but heroic and honorable administration, had died, 
amid the prayers and blessings of his friends, without a stain upon 
his memory. Thomas Green had also for a short period been 
the governor; and the principal key of authority was then held 
by Captain William Stone. 

The assembly was composed of the Governor, the privy coun- 
sellors and the burgesses. In many particulars its model was 
not unlike that of the primitive parliaments of England. The 
governor and the privy counsellors were appointed by Cecilius, 
the feudal prince or proprietary of the province; the burgesses, 
who were chosen by the freemen, represented the democratic 
element in the original constitution of Maryland. The dele- 
gates were sent by Kent and by St. Mary's, the only two coun- 
ties at that time within the limits of the principality ; the former 
upon the east, the latter upon the west, side of "the Great Bay." 
And while there is no reason for asserting the want of harmony 
upon the business of this assembly, it is a remarkable fact that 
for more than two centuries the most strongly marked differences 
have existed between the shores of the Chesapeake, not only of a 
geographical, but also of a political, character. 


Kent, in the midst of many sad reverses, had grown out of a 
settlement founded as early as 1630, by Colonel Clayborne, in 
the spirit of a truly heroic adventure, under the jurisdiction es- 
tablished at Jamestown, and during the administration — it is 
supposed — of Governor Harvey, upon an island of the Chesa- 
peake called Kent, but then the "Isle of Kent"; a purchase — 
to quote the Colonel's own words — from "the kings of that 
country"; and the original centre of the country represented 
at St. Mary's, though now included within the limits of Queen 
Anne's — an island still noted for the beauty of its scenery and 
the wealth of its waters in fish and fowl; and the only dwelling- 
place of the colonists upon the eastern shore at the time of this 
assembly; the seat, also, of opulence and elegance at a period 
anterior to the American Revolution, and presented in the Vir- 
ginia House of Burgesses before the settlement of St. Mary's; ' 
but above all, distinguished as the first focal point of Anglo- 
American civilization within the present boundaries of the State 2 
of Maryland. 

St. Mary's, which also had been purchased from the Indians 
— how honorable to the memory of those who took part in that 
transaction! — and which had borne the appellation of Augusta- 
Carolina, included a territory of thirty miles, extending toward 
the mouth of the Potomac, and embracing the St. Mary's, which 
flows into that river. Within this country was also the small city, 
which had been founded upon the site of an aboriginal village, and 
which, like the river upon which it stood, derived its beautiful 
name from the Blessed Virgin. It was the chief star in a constel- 
lation of little settlements and plantations, and for a period of 
about sixty years was the provincial capital of Maryland ; a city 
of which nothing now remains deserving the dignity of ruins ; a 
few relics only are preserved, the records and everything be- 
longing to the government having long since been removed to 

1 " The Virginians," says Chalmers, " boasted, with their wonted pride, 
that the colonists of Kent sent burgesses to their assembly, and were sub- 
jected to their jurisdiction, before Maryland had a name." Nor was the 
boast without foundation. Their early legislative journals show conclu- 
sively that the island was represented by Captain Nicholas Martin. 

2 The date of the settlement cannot be accurately given. Ethan Allen 
supposes it was during the year 1629. 


Annapolis, but a spot still consecrated in the affections of the 

Judging from the number of wholesome laws enacted in 
1649, as well as the shortness of their session — for it did not in- 
clude twenty-five days — it would seem, the assemblymen of this 
year were certainly not very fond of talking or speechmaking. 
It appears, also, that some of them, like our Saxon forefathers, 
could neither read nor write. It can be proved from the rec- 
ords that two of them, at least, were in the habit of making a 
signet mark. But did they not leave a mark also upon the coun- 
try and upon the world ? 

The "Act Concerning Religion" — for that is the title of the 
law — forms so important a link in the aim of this narrative that 
its leading provisions should be stated. The design was five- 
fold: To guard by an express penalty "the most sacred things of 
God"; to inculcate the principle of religious decency and order; 
to establish, upon a firmer basis, the harmony already existing 
between the colonists ; to secure in the fullest sense freedom, as 
well as protection, to all believers in Christianity ; and to protect 
quiet disbelievers against every sort of reproach or ignominy. 
In determining the different lines and landmarks, a regard, of 
course, must be had to the spirit of the charter, to the theological 
notions of the age, and to the character of the elements which 
then composed the population of the province. 

1. The proprietary had the right, upon all doubtful points, 
to construe the charter in that manner which was most favorable 
to himself. But no interpretation was allowed inconsistent with 
the "Sacrosancta Dei" and the "Vera Christiana Religio" — 
the former implying a prohibition of the most wicked kind of 
blasphemy, as well as the desecration of the most holy institu- 
tions; the latter defining or bounding the pledge of religious 
freedom to the Roman Catholic by securing the same liberty for 
the English churchman. And there cannot be reasonable doubt 
that among statesmen, as well as ecclesiastics, two centuries ago, 
the Lord's Day and the Trinity, or fundamental article of re- 
vealed religion, were two of the "most sacred" things of God. 
This fact accounts for the penalty against those who were guilty 
of violating the sanctity of the " Sabbath," or of "cursing" God; 
that is, denying the great doctrine of the Athanasian Creed. 


2. A history is not an argument. In any other place a dis- 
pute indeed upon a question of religious decency would be quite 
as useless as one upon a point of taste. But the world, either 
Roman Catholic or Protestant, is hardly yet so wise as to be pre- 
pared to condemn Lord Baltimore and the assembly of Mary- 
land for the imposition of a fine of five pounds upon the man 
who should dare to speak reproachfully of "the Blessed Virgin," 
or of the heroic evangelists and apostolic martyrs of the primitive 

3. There is a striking difference between religious uniformity 
and social harmony. And it was an object of the law to tolerate 
the want of the one and to promote the growth of the other. In 
this particular it was but the development of the policy which 
had been adopted under the first governor's administration. 
Bounded by the preceding explanations, the law throughout 
breathes the spirit of peace and charity as well as harmony. 

4. Freedom in the fullest sense was secured to all believers 
in Christianity: to Roman Catholics and Protestants; to Epis- 
copalians and Puritans; to Calvinists and Arminians; and to 
Christians of every other name coming within the meaning of 
the assembly. A Christian was a believer in Jesus Christ. The 
belief in Christ was synonymous with a faith in his divinity. And 
the recognition of his godhead was equivalent — such is the clear 
intention of the act — to a confession of that article in the apos- 
tolic creed which teaches the great doctrine of the Trinity. The 
act of the assembly also fully explains the oath which had been 
imposed upon the governor and the privy counsellors. And the 
believer enjoyed, not only a freedom, but also a protection. He 
who "troubled, molested, or discountenanced" him was, accord- 
ing to the law, fined for his offence. 

5. From the language of the act, as well as the subsequent 
practice of the government, it is evident that the quiet disbeliever 
also was protected. A case can easily be given. But it is enough 
for the reader to look at that section of the law which forbids the 
application, in a reproachful sense, to "any person or persons 
whatsoever," of any "name or term" "relating to matter of re- 

The act, it will be observed, covers a very broad ground. It 
is true, it did not embrace every class of subsequent religionists. 


A Jew, without peril to his life, could not call the Saviour of the 
world a " magician " or a " necromancer." A Quaker, under the 
order of the government, was required to take off his hat in 
court, or go immediately to the whipping-post. The Mormon, 
who dignifies polygamy with the notion of a sacrament, who dis- 
seminates the Gospel in the propagation of his species, would not 
have been allowed, we may suppose, to marry more than one 
woman. But as early as 1659 a well-known nonbeliever in the 
Trinity lived here, transacted his business, and instituted with- 
out objection his suits in the civil courts. Nor were the Jewish 
disabilities entirely removed till a period long after the Ameri- 
can Revolution; and this feature of the law, all things consid- 
ered, was not more of a reproach to the legislators of 1649 than 
the constitution of the State to the reformers of 1774. 

We have no evidence, indeed, that any Quakers were in 
Maryland at the passage of the law; and when they came, their 
case was misunderstood ; for the dislike toward them arose from 
their supposed want of respect for the constituted authorities, 
and their refusal to take the oath of submission. A constitutional 
difficulty might also readily occur to anyone, as it certainly did 
to the Proprietary, who was bound by the charter to maintain 
the fundamental principles of Anglo-Saxon law, which had al- 
ways regarded the instrumentality of the oath in the administra- 
tion of practical justice as the corner-stone of a system. But 
every disposition was manifested to render them comfortable; 
and they soon became a flourishing and influential denomina- 

Notwithstanding the imperfection which ever marks human 
legislation, it is wonderful to think how far our ancestors went 
in the march of religious freedom. The earliest policy of Mary- 
land was in striking contrast with that of every other colony. 
The toleration which prevailed from the first, and fifteen years 
later was formally ratified by the voice of the people, must, there- 
fore, be regarded as the living embodiment of a great idea; the 
introduction of a new element into the civilization of Anglo- 
American humanity; the beginning of another movement in the 
progress of the human mind. 



A.D. 1649 


No period of English history is more crowded with important events 
than that of the civil war. The intolerant reign of James I had brought 
him into conflict, not only with the religious elements in the kingdom, but 
also with Parliament. 

Like James, his son and successor, Charles I, was a stubborn believer 
in the divine right of the monarch ; and as James had shown throughout 
his reign a flagrant disregard of law, so Charles from the outset betrayed 
the same disposition. He surrounded himself with advisers who sup- 
ported his favorite views. In the first fifteen months of his reign he 
summoned two parliaments only to dissolve them in anger. Next he 
raised money by forced loans and other expedients which were odious to 
many of his subjects. 

For the first time England was now divided between two great parties. 
Matters proceeded with constantly increasing friction, and at last the strug- 
gle developed into civil war. Macaulay's summary of it, and Knight's 
picture of its culmination in that most melancholy tragedy, the execution 
of the King, cover the subject in its essential aspects, without unneces- 
sary dealing with minor details. 


IN August, 1642, the sword was at length drawn; and soon, in 
almost every shire of the kingdom, two hostile factions ap- 
peared in arms against each other. It is not easy to say which of 
the contending parties was at first the more formidable. The 
Houses commanded London and the counties round London, 
the fleet, the navigation of the Thames, and most of the large 
towns and seaports. They had at their disposal almost all the 
military stores of the kingdom, and were able to raise duties, 
both on goods imported from foreign countries and on some im- 
portant products of domestic industry. 

King Charles was ill provided with artillery and ammunition. 
The taxes which he laid on the rural districts occupied by his 



troops produced, it is probable, a sum far less than that which 
the Parliament drew from the city of London alone. He relied, 
indeed, chiefly, for pecuniary aid on the munificence of his opu- 
lent adherents. Many of these mortgaged their land, pawned 
their jewels, and broke up their silver chargers and christening- 
bowls in order to assist him. But experience has fully proved 
that the voluntary liberality of individuals, even in times of the 
greatest excitement, is a poor financial resource when compared 
with severe and methodical taxation, which presses on the will- 
ing and unwilling alike. 

Charles, however, had one advantage, which, if he had used 
it well, would have more than compensated for the want of stores 
and money, and which, notwithstanding his mismanagement, 
gave him, during some months, a superiority in the war. His 
troops at first fought much better than those of the Parliament. 
Both armies, it is true, were almost entirely composed of men 
who had never seen a field of battle. Nevertheless, the difference 
was great. The Parliamentary ranks were filled with hirelings 
whom want and idleness had induced to enlist. Hampden's 
regiment was regarded as one of the best ; and even Hampden's 
regiment was described by Cromwell as a mere rabble of tap- 
sters and serving-men out of place. 

The royal army, on the other hand, consisted in great part of 
gentlemen, high-spirited, ardent, accustomed to consider dis- 
honor as more terrible than death, accustomed to fencing, to the 
use of fire-arms, to bold riding, and to manly and perilous sport, 
which has been well called the image of war. Such gentlemen, 
mounted on their favorite horses, and commanding little bands 
composed of their younger brothers, grooms, gamekeepers, and 
huntsmen, were, from the very first day on which they took the 
field, qualified to play their part with credit in a skirmish. The 
steadiness, the prompt obedience, the mechanical precision of 
movement, which are characteristic of the regular soldier, these 
gallant volunteers never attained. But they were at first opposed 
to enemies as undisciplined as themselves, and far less active, 
athletic, and daring. For a time, therefore, the Cavaliers were 
successful in almost every encounter. 

The Houses had also been unfortunate in the choice of a gen- 
eral. The rank and wealth of the Earl of Essex made him one 


of the most important members of the Parliamentary party. He 
had borne arms on the Continent with credit, and, when the war 
began, had as high a military reputation as any man in the coun- 
try. But it soon appeared that he was unfit for the post of com- 
mander-in-chief. He had little energy and no originality. The 
methodical tactics which he had learned in the war of the Palati- 
nate did not save him from the disgrace of being surprised and 
baffled by such a captain as Rupert, who could claim no higher 
fame than that of an enterprising partisan. 

Nor were the officers who held the chief commissions under 
Essex qualified to supply what was wanting in him. For this, 
indeed, the Houses are scarcely to be blamed. In a country 
which had not, within the memory of the oldest person living, 
made war on a great scale by land, generals of tried skill and 
valor were not to be found. It was necessary, therefore, in the 
first instance, to trust untried men ; and the preference was nat- 
urally given to men distinguished either by their station or by 
the abilities which they had displayed in Parliament. 

In scarcely a single instance, however, was the selection fort- 
unate. Neither the grandees nor the orators proved good sol- 
diers. The Earl of Stamford, one of the greatest nobles of Eng- 
land, was routed by the Royalists at Stratton. Nathaniel Fiennes, 
inferior to none of his contemporaries in talents for civil busi- 
ness, disgraced himself by the pusillanimous surrender of Bris- 
tol. Indeed, of all the statesmen who at this juncture accepted 
high military commands, Hampden alone appears to have car- 
ried into the camp the capacity and strength of mind which had 
made him eminent in politics. 

When the war had lasted a year, the advantage was decidedly 
with the Royalists. They were victorious, both in the western 
and in the northern counties. They had wrested Bristol, the 
second city in the kingdom, from the Parliament. They had 
won several battles, and had not sustained a single serious or ig- 
nominious defeat. Among the Roundheads adversity had begun 
to produce dissension and discontent. The Parliament was kept 
in alarm, sometimes by plots and sometimes by riots. It was 
thought necessary to fortify London against the royal army, and 
to hang some disaffected citizens at their own doors. Several of 
the most distinguished peers who had hitherto remained at 


Westminster fled to the court at Oxford; nor can it be doubted 
that if the operations of the Cavaliers had at this season been 
directed by a sagacious and powerful mind, Charles would soon 
have marched in triumph to Whitehall. 

But the King suffered the auspicious moment to pass away; 
and it never returned. In August, 1643, ne sa t down before 
the city of Gloucester. That city was defended by the inhab- 
itants and by the garrison, with a determination such as had 
not, since the commencement of the war, been shown by the ad- 
herents of the Parliament. The emulation of London was ex- 
cited. The train-bands of the city volunteered to march wher- 
ever their services might be required. A great force was speedily 
collected and began to move westward. The siege of Glouces- 
ter was raised : the Royalists in every part of the kingdom were 
disheartened ; the spirit of the Parliamentary party revived ; and 
the apostate lords, who had lately fled from Westminster to Ox- 
ford, hastened back from Oxford to Westminster. 

And now a new and alarming class of symptoms began to 
appear in the distempered body politic. There had been, from 
the first, in the Parliamentary party, some men whose minds 
were set on objects from which the majority of that party would 
have shrunk with horror. These men were, in religion Indepen- 
dents. They conceived that every Christian congregation had, 
under Christ, supreme jurisdiction in things spiritual; that ap- 
peals to provincial and national synods were scarcely less un- 
scriptural than appeals to the court of arches or to the Vatican ; 
and that popery, prelacy, and Presbyterianism were merely three 
forms of one great apostasy. In politics, the Independents were, 
to use the phrase of their time, root and branch men, or, to use 
the kindred phrase of our own time, radicals. Not content with 
limiting the power of the monarch, they were desirous to erect a 
commonwealth on the ruins of the old English polity. 

At first they had been inconsiderable, both in numbers and 
in weight ; but before the war had lasted two years they became, 
not indeed the largest, but the most powerful, faction in the coun- 
try. Some of the old Parliamentary leaders had been removed 
by death; and others had forfeited the public confidence. Pym 
had been borne, with princely honors, to a grave among the 
Plantagenets. Hampden had fallen, as became him, while vainly 


endeavoring, by his heroic example, to inspire his followers with 
courage to face the fiery cavalry of Rupert. Bedford had been 
untrue to the cause. Northumberland was known to be luke- 
warm. Essex and his lieutenants had shown little vigor and 
ability in the conduct of military operations. At such a con- 
juncture it was that the Independent party, ardent, resolute, and 
uncompromising, began to raise its head, both in the camp and 
in the House of Commons. 

The soul of that party was Oliver Cromwell. Bred to peace- 
ful occupations, he had, at more than forty years of age, accepted 
a commission in the Parliamentary army. No sooner had he be- 
come a soldier than he discerned, with the keen glance of genius, 
what Essex, and men like Essex, with all their experience, were 
unable to perceive. He saw precisely where the strength of the 
Royalists lay, and by what means alone that strength could be 
overpowered. He saw that it was necessary to reconstruct the 
army of the Parliament. He saw also that there were abundant 
and excellent materials for the purpose, materials less showy, in- 
deed, but more solid, than those of which the gallant squadrons 
of the King were composed. It was necessary to look for re- 
cruits who were not mere mercenaries, for recruits of decent sta- 
tion and grave character, fearing God and zealous for public lib- 
erty. With such men he filled his own regiment, and, while he 
subjected them to a discipline more rigid than had ever before 
been known in England, he administered to their intellectual and 
moral nature stimulants of fearful potency. 

The events of the year 1644 fully proved the superiority of 
his abilities. In the South, where Essex held the command, the 
Parliamentary forces underwent a succession of shameful disas- 
ters ; but in the North the victory of Marston Moor fully com- 
pensated for all that had been lost elsewhere. That victory was 
not a more serious blow to the Royalists than to the party which 
had hitherto been dominant at Westminster; for it was notorious 
that the day, disgracefully lost by the Presbyterians, had been 
retrieved by the energy of Cromwell and by the steady valor of 
the warriors whom he had trained. 

These events produced the "Self-denying Ordinance" and 
the new model of the army. Under decorous pretexts, and with 
every mark of respect, Essex and most of those who had held 


high posts under him were removed ; and the conduct of the war 
was intrusted to very different hands. Fairfax, a brave soldier, 
but of mean understanding and irresolute temper, was the nom- 
inal lord-general of the forces; but Cromwell was their real 

Cromwell made haste to organize the whole army on the same 
principles on which he had organized his own regiment. As soon 
as this process was complete, the event of the war was decided. 
The Cavaliers had now to encounter natural courage equal to 
their own, enthusiasm stronger than their own, and discipline 
such as was utterly wanting to them. It soon became a proverb 
that the soldiers of Fairfax and Cromwell were men of a differ- 
ent breed from the soldiers of Essex. At Naseby took place the 
first great encounter between the Royalists and the remodelled 
army of the Houses. The victory of the Roundheads was com- 
plete and decisive. It was followed by other triumphs in rapid 
succession. In a few months the authority of the Parliament was 
fully established over the whole kingdom. Charles fled to the 
Scots, and was by them, in a manner which did not much exalt 
their national character, delivered up to his English subjects. 

While the event of the war was still doubtful, the Houses had 
put the primate to death, had interdicted, within the sphere of 
their authority, the use of the liturgy, and had required all men 
to subscribe that renowned instrument known by the name of 
the " Solemn League and Covenant." Covenanting work, as it 
was called, went on fast. Hundreds of thousands affixed their 
names to the rolls, and, with hands lifted up toward heaven, 
swore to endeavor, without respect of persons, the extirpation of 
popery and prelacy, heresy and schism, and to bring to public 
trial and condign punishment all who should hinder the refor- 
mation of religion. When the struggle was over, the work of in- 
novation and revenge was pushed on with increased ardor. The 
ecclesiastical polity of the kingdom was remodelled. Most of the 
old clergy were ejected from their benefices. Fines, often of ruin- 
ous amount, were laid on the Royalists, already impoverished 
by large aids furnished to the King. Many estates were confis- 
cated. Many proscribed Cavaliers found it expedient to pur- 
chase, at an enormous cost, the protection of eminent members 
of the victorious party. Large domains, belonging to the crown, 


to the bishops, and to the chapters, were seized, and either 
granted away or put up to auction. In consequence of these 
spoliations, a great part of the soil of England was at once offered 
for sale. As money was scarce, as the market was glutted, as the 
title was insecure, and as the awe inspired by powerful bidders 
prevented free competition, the prices were often merely nomi- 
nal. Thus many old and honorable families disappeared and 
were heard of no more ; and many new men rose rapidly to af- 

But, while the Houses were employing their authority thus, 
it suddenly passed out of their hands. It had been obtained by 
calling into existence a power which could not be controlled. In 
the summer of 1647, about twelve months after the last fortress 
of the Cavaliers had submitted to the Parliament, the Parlia- 
ment was compelled to submit to its own soldiers. Thirteen 
years followed, during which England was, under various names 
and forms, really governed by the sword. Never before that 
time, or since that time, was the civil power in our country sub- 
jected to military dictation. 

The army which now became supreme in the state was an 
army very different from any that has since been seen among us. 
At present the pay of the common soldier is not such as can se- 
duce any but the humblest class of English laborers from their 
calling. A barrier almost impassable separates him from the 
commissioned officer. The great majority of those who rise high 
in the service rise by purchase. So numerous and extensive are 
the remote dependencies of England that every man who enlists 
in the line must expect to pass many years in exile, and some 
years in climates unfavorable to the health and vigor of the Eu- 
ropean race. The army of the Long Parliament was raised for 
home service. The pay of the private soldier was much above 
the wages earned by the great body of the people ; and, if he dis- 
tinguished himself by intelligence and courage, he might hope 
to attain high commands. 

The ranks were accordingly composed of persons superior in 
station and education to the multitude. These persons, sober, 
moral, diligent, and accustomed to reflect, had been induced to 
take up arms, not by the pressure of want, not by the love of nov- 
elty and license, not by the arts of recruiting-officers, but by re- 


ligious and political zeal, mingled with the desire of distinction 
and promotion. The boast of the soldiers, as we find it recorded 
in their solemn resolutions, was that they had not been forced 
into the service, nor had enlisted chiefly for the sake of lucre, that 
they were no janizaries, but freeborn Englishmen, who had, of 
their own accord, put their lives in jeopardy for the liberties and 
religion of England, and whose right and duty it was to watch 
over the welfare of the nation which they had saved. 

A force thus composed might, without injury to its efficiency, 
be indulged in some liberties which, if allowed to any other 
troops, would have proved subversive of all discipline. In gen- 
eral, soldiers who should form themselves into political clubs, 
elect delegates, and pass resolutions on high questions of state, 
would soon break loose from all control, would cease to form an 
army, and would become the worst and most dangerous of mobs. 
Nor would it be safe in our time to tolerate in any regiment re- 
ligious meetings, at which a corporal versed in Scripture should 
lead the devotions of his less gifted colonel, and admonish a 
backsliding major. But such was the intelligence, the gravity, 
and the self-command of the warriors whom Cromwell had 
trained that in their camp a political organization and a relig- 
ious organization could exist without destroying military organ- 
ization. The same men, who, off duty, were noted as dema- 
gogues and field preachers were distinguished by steadiness, by 
the spirit of order, and by prompt obedience on watch, on drill, 
and on the field of battle. 

In' war this strange force was irresistible. The stubborn 
courage characteristic of the English people was, by the system 
of Cromwell, at once regulated and stimulated. Other leaders 
have maintained order as strict. Other leaders have inspired 
their followers with zeal as ardent. But in his camp alone the 
most rigid discipline was found in company with the fiercest en- 
thusiasm. His troops moved to victory with the precision of ma- 
chines, while burning with the wildest fanaticism of crusaders. 
From the time when the army was remodelled to the time when 
it was disbanded, it never found, either in the British Islands or 
on the Continent, an enemy who could stand its onset. In Eng- 
land, Scotland, Ireland, Flanders, the Puritan warriors, often 
surrounded by difficulties, sometimes contending against three- 


fold odds, not only never failed to conquer, but never failed to 
destroy and break in pieces whatever force was opposed to them. 
They at length came to regard the day of battle as a day of cer- 
tain triumph, and marched against the most renowned battal- 
ions of Europe with disdainful confidence. 

Turenne was startled by the shout of stern exultation with 
which his English allies advanced to the combat, and expressed 
the delight of a true soldier when he learned that it was ever the 
fashion of Cromwell's pikemen to rejoice greatly when they be- 
held the enemy; and the banished Cavaliers felt an emotion of 
national pride when they saw a brigade of their countrymen, 
outnumbered by foes and abandoned by friends, drive before it 
in headlong rout the finest infantry of Spain, and force a passage 
into a counter-scarp which had just been pronounced impreg- 
nable by the ablest of the marshals of France. 

But that which chiefly distinguished the army of Cromwell 
from other armies was the austere morality and the fear of God 
which pervaded all ranks. It is acknowledged by the most zeal- 
ous Royalists that, in that singular camp, no oath was heard, no 
drunkenness or gambling was seen, and that, during the long 
dominion of the soldiery, the property of the peaceable citizen 
and the honor of woman were held sacred. If outrages were 
committed, they were outrages of a very different kind from 
those of which a victorious army is generally guilty. No servant 
girl complained of the rough gallantry of the redcoats. Not an 
ounce of plate was taken from the shops of the goldsmiths. But 
a Pelagian sermon, or a window on which the Virgin and Child 
were painted, produced in the Puritan ranks an excitement which 
it required the utmost exertions of the officers to quell. One of 
Cromwell's chief difficulties was to restrain his musketeers and 
dragoons from invading by main force the pulpits of ministers 
whose discourses, to use the language of that time, were not sa- 
vory ; and too many of our cathedrals still bear the marks of the 
hatred with which those stern spirits regarded every vestige of 

To keep down the English people was no light task even for 
that army. No sooner was the first pressure of military tyranny 
felt than the nation, unbroken to such servitude, began to strug- 
gle fiercely. Insurrections broke out even in those counties 


which, during the recent war, had been the most submissive to 
the Parliament. Indeed, the Parliament itself abhorred its old 
defenders more than its old enemies, and was desirous to come 
to terms of accommodation with Charles at the expense of the 
troops. In Scotland, at the same time, a coalition was formed 
between the Royalists and a large body of Presbyterians who re- 
garded the doctrines of the Independents with detestation. 

At length the storm burst. There were risings in Norfolk, 
Suffolk, Essex, Kent, Wales. The fleet in the Thames suddenly 
hoisted the royal colors, stood out to sea, and menaced the 
southern coast. A great Scottish force crossed the frontier and 
advanced into Lancashire. It might well be suspected that these 
movements were contemplated with secret complacency by a ma- 
jority both of the Lords and of the Commons. 

But the yoke of the army was not to be so shaken off. While 
Fairfax suppressed the risings in the neighborhood of the capi- 
tal, Oliver routed the Welsh insurgents, and, leaving their castles 
in ruins, marched against the Scots. His troops were few, when 
compared with the invaders; but he was little in the habit of 
counting his enemies. The Scottish army was utterly destroyed. 
A change in the Scottish government followed. An administra- 
tion, hostile to the King, was formed at Edinburgh; and Crom- 
well, more than ever the darling of his soldiers, returned in tri- 
umph to London. 

And now a design, to which, at the commencement of the 
civil war, no man would have dared to allude, and which was 
not less inconsistent with the Solemn League and Covenant than 
with the old law of England, began to take a distinct form. The 
austere warriors who ruled the nation had, during some months, 
meditated a fearful vengeance on the captive King. When and 
how the scheme originated, whether it spread from the general 
to the ranks or from the ranks to the general, whether it is to be 
ascribed to policy using fanaticism as a tool or to fanaticism 
bearing down policy with headlong impulse, are questions 
which, even at this day, cannot be answered with perfect con- 

It seems, however, on the whole, probable that he who 
seemed to lead was really forced to follow, and that, on this oc- 
casion, as on another great occasion a few years later, he sacri- 


ficed his own judgment and his own inclinations to the wishes 
of the army. For the power which he had called into existence 
was a power which even he could not always control; and, that 
he might ordinarily command, it was necessary that he should 
sometimes obey. He publicly protested that he was no mover 
in the matter, that the first steps had been taken without his 
privity, that he could not advise the Parliament to strike the 
blow, but that he submitted his own feelings to the force of cir- 
cumstances which seemed to him to indicate the purposes of 

It has been the fashion to consider these professions as in- 
stances of the hypocrisy which is vulgarly imputed to him. But 
even those who pronounce him a hypocrite will scarcely venture 
to call him a fool. They are therefore bound to show that he had 
some purpose to serve by secretly stimulating the army to take 
that course which he did not venture openly to recommend. It 
would be absurd to suppose that he who was never by his re- 
spectable enemies represented as wantonly cruel or implacably 
vindictive, would have taken the most important step of his life 
under the influence of mere malevolence. He was far too wise a 
man not to know, when he consented to shed that august blood, 
that he was doing a deed which was inexpiable, and which would 
move the grief and horror, not only of the Royalists, but of nine- 
tenths of those who had stood by the Parliament. Whatever 
visions may have deluded others, he was assuredly dreaming 
neither of a republic on the antique pattern nor of the millennial 
reign of the saints. If he already aspired to be himself the 
founder of a new dynasty, it was plain that Charles I was a less 
formidable competitor than Charles II would be. 

At the moment of the death of Charles I the loyalty of ev- 
ery Cavalier would be transferred, unimpaired, to Charles II. 
Charles I was a captive : Charles II would be at liberty. Charles 

I was an object of suspicion and dislike to a large proportion of 
those who yet shuddered at the thought of slaying him : Charles 

II would excite all the interest which belongs to distressed youth 
and innocence. It is impossible to believe that considerations 
so obvious and so important escaped the most profound poli- 
tician of that age. The truth is that Cromwell had at one time 
meant to mediate between the throne and the Parliament, and to 

E., VOL. XI.— 21. 


reorganize the distracted state by the power of the sword, under 
the sanction of the royal name. 

In this design he persisted till he was compelled to abandon 
it by the refractory temper of the soldiers and by the incurable 
duplicity of the King. A party in the camp began to clamor for 
the head of the traitor, who was for treating with Agag. Con- 
spiracies were formed. Threats of impeachment were loudly ut- 
tered. A mutiny broke out, which all the vigor and resolution 
of Oliver could hardly quell. And though, by a judicious mixt- 
ure of severity and kindness, he succeeded in restoring order, 
he saw that it would be in the highest degree difficult and peril- 
ous to contend against the rage of warriors, who regarded the 
fallen tyrant as their foe and as the foe of their God. At the 
same time it became more evident than ever that the King could 
not be trusted. The vices of Charles had grown upon him. They 
were, indeed, vices which difficulties and perplexities generally 
bring out in the strongest light. Cunning is the natural defence 
of the weak. A prince, therefore, who is habitually a deceiver 
when at the height of power, is not likely to learn frankness in 
the midst of embarrassments and distresses. 

Charles was not only a most unscrupulous but a most un- 
lucky dissembler. There never was a politician to whom so 
many frauds and falsehoods were brought home by undeniable 
evidence. He publicly recognized the Houses at Westminster as 
a legal Parliament, and at the same time made a private min- 
ute in council declaring the recognition null. He publicly dis- 
claimed all thought of calling in foreign aid against his people; 
he privately solicited aid from France, from Denmark, and from 
Lorraine. He publicly denied that he employed papists : at the 
same time he privately sent to his generals directions to employ 
every papist that would serve. He publicly took the sacra- 
ment at Oxford as a pledge that he never would even con- 
nive at popery. He privately assured his wife that he in- 
tended to tolerate popery in England; and he authorized Lord 
Glamorgan to promise that popery should be established in 
Ireland. Then he attempted to clear himself at his agent's ex- 

Glamorgan received, in the royal handwriting, reprimands 
intended to be read by others, and eulogies which were to be seen 


only by himself. To such an extent, indeed, had insincerity now 
tainted the King's whole nature, that his most devoted friends 
could not refrain from complaining to each other, with bitter 
grief and shame, of his crooked politics. His defeats, they said, 
gave them less pain than his intrigues. Since he had been a 
prisoner, there was no section of the victorious party which had 
not been the object both of his flatteries and of his machinations; 
but never was he more unfortunate than when he attempted at 
once to cajole and to undermine Cromwell. 

Cromwell had to determine whether he would put to hazard 
the attachment of his party, the attachment of his army, his own 
greatness, nay, his own life, in an attempt which would probably 
have been vain, to save a prince whom no engagement could 
bind. With many struggles and misgivings, and probably not 
without many prayers, the decision was made. Charles was left 
to his fate. The military saints resolved that, in defiance of the 
old laws of the realm, and of the almost universal sentiment of 
the nation, the King should expiate his crimes with his blood. 
He for a time expected a death like that of his unhappy prede- 
cessors, Edward II and Richard II. But he was in no danger of 
such treason. Those who had him in their grrpe were not mid- 
night stabbers. What they did they did in order that it might 
be a spectacle to heaven and earth, and that it might be held in 
everlasting remembrance. They enjoyed keenly the very scan- 
dal which they gave. That the ancient constitution and the pub- 
lic opinion of England were directly opposed to regicide made 
regicide seem strangely fascinating to a party bent on effecting 
a complete political and social revolution. 

In order to accomplish their purpose, it was necessary that 
they should first break in pieces every part of the machinery of 
the government; and this necessity was rather agreeable than 
painful to them. The Commons passed a vote tending to accom- 
modation with the King. The soldiers excluded the majority by 
force. The Lords unanimously rejected the proposition that the 
King should be brought to trial. Their house was instantly 
closed. No court known to the law would take on itself the 
office of judging the fountain of justice. A revolutionary tri- 
bunal was created. That tribunal pronounced Charles a ty- 
rant, a traitor, a murderer, and a public enemy; and his head 


was severed from his shoulders, before thousands of spectators, 
in front of the banqueting-hall of his own palace. 

In no long time it became manifest that those political and 
religious zealots to whom this deed is to be ascribed had com- 
mitted, not only a crime, but an error. They had given to a 
prince, hitherto known to his people chiefly by his faults, an op- 
portunity of displaying, on a great theatre, before the eyes of all 
nations and all ages, some qualities which irresistibly call forth 
the admiration and love of mankind, the high spirit of a gallant 
gentleman, the patience and meekness of a penitent Christian. 
Nay, they had so contrived their revenge that the very man whose 
life had been a series of attacks on the liberties of England now 
seemed to die a martyr in the cause of those liberties. No dema- 
gogue ever produced such an impression on the public mind as 
the captive King, who, retaining in that extremity all his regal 
dignity, and confronting death with dauntless courage, gave ut- 
terance to the feelings of his oppressed people, manfully refused 
to plead before a court unknown to the law, appealed from mili- 
tary violence to the principles of the constitution, asked by what 
right the House of Commons had been purged of its most re- 
spectable members and the House of Lords deprived of its legis- 
lative functions, and told his weeping hearers that he was de- 
fending, not only his own cause, but theirs. 

His long misgovernment, his innumerable perfidies, were for- 
gotten. His memory was, in the minds of the great majority of 
his subjects, associated with those free institutions which he had 
during many years labored to destroy; for those free institutions 
had perished with him, and, amid the mournful silence of a com- 
munity kept down by arms, had been defended by his voice 
alone. From that day began a reaction in favor of monarchy 
and of the exiled house, a reaction which never ceased till the 
throne had again been set up in all its old dignity. 


The drawbridge of Hurst castle 1 is lowered during the night, 

December 17, 1648, and the tramp of a troop of horse is heard 

by the wakeful prisoner. He calls for his attendant Herbert, 

who is sent to ascertain the cause of this midnight commotion. 

1 Charles I had been confined here for nearly three weeks. 


Major Harrison is arrived. The King is agitated. He has been 
warned that Harrison is a man chosen to assassinate him. He 
is reassured in the morning, in being informed that the major 
and his troop are to conduct him to Windsor. Two days after, 
the King sets out, under the escort of Lieutenant- Colonel Cob- 
bett. At Winchester he is received in state by the mayor and 
aldermen ; but they retire alarmed on being told that the House 
has voted all to be traitors who should address the King. 

The troop commanded by Cobbett has been relieved on the 
route by another troop, of which Harrison has the command. 
They rest at Farnham. Charles expresses to Harrison, with 
whose soldierly appearance he is struck, the suspicions which 
had been hinted regarding him. The major, in his new buff 
coat and fringed scarf of crimson silk, told the King "that he 
needed not to entertain any such imagination or apprehension; 
that the Parliament had too much honor and justice to cherish 
so foul an intention; and assured him that whatever the Parlia- 
ment resolved to do would be very public, and in a way of justice 
to which the world should be witness, and would never endure 
a thought of secret violence." This, adds Clarendon, "his maj- 
esty could not persuade himself to believe ; nor did imagine that 
they durst ever produce him in the sight of the people, under any 
form whatsoever of a public trial." 

The next day the journey was pursued toward Windsor. 
The King urged his desire to stop at Bagshot, and dine in the 
forest at the house of Lord Newburgh. He had been apprised 
that his friend would have ready for him a horse of extraordinary 
fleetness, with which he might make one more effort to escape. 
The horse had been kicked by another horse the day before and 
was useless. That last faint hope was gone. On the night of 
December 23d the King slept, a prisoner surrounded with hos- 
tile guards, in the noble castle which in the days of his youth had 
rung with Jonson's lyrics and ribaldry; and the "Gipsy of the 
Masque" had prophesied that his "name in peace or wars, 
nought should bound." 

But even here he continued to cherish some of the delusions 
which he had indulged in situations of far less danger. He was 
still surrounded with something of regal pomp. He dined, as the 
ancient sovereigns had dined, in public — as Elizabeth, and his 


father, and he himself had dined — seated under a canopy, the cup 
presented to him on the knee, the dishes solemnly tasted before 
he ate. These manifestations of respect he held to be indicative 
of an altered feeling. But he also had an undoubting confidence 
that he should be righted, by aid from Ireland, from Denmark, 
from other kingdoms — "I have three more cards to play, the 
worst of which will give me back everything. " After three weeks 
of comparative comfort, the etiquette observed toward him was 
laid aside; and with a fearful sense of approaching calamity in 
the absence of " respect and honor, according to the ancient 
practice," is there anything more contemptible than a despised 
prince ? 

During the month in which Charles had remained at Windsor 
there had been proceedings in Parliament of which he was im- 
perfectly informed. On the day he arrived there it was resolved 
by the Commons that he should be brought to trial. On Jan- 
uary 2, 1649, ^ was voted that, in making war against the Par- 
liament, he had been guilty of treason; and a high court was 
appointed to try him. One hundred fifty commissioners were 
to compose the court — peers, members of the Commons, alder- 
men of London. The ordinance was sent to the Upper House 
and was rejected. On the 6th a fresh ordinance, declaring that 
the people being, after God, the source of all just power, the rep- 
resentatives of the people are the supreme power in the nation ; 
and that whatsoever is enacted or declared for law by the Com- 
mons in Parliament hath the force of a law, and the people are 
concluded thereby, though the consent of king or peers be not 
had thereto. 

Asserting this power, so utterly opposed either to the ancient 
constitution of the monarchy or to the possible working of a re- 
public, there was no hesitation in constituting the high court 
of justice in the name of the Commons alone. The number 
of members of the court was now reduced to one hundred 
thirty-five. They had seven preparatory meetings, at which 
only fifty-eight members attended. "All men," says Mrs. 
Hutchinson, "were left to their free liberty of acting, neither per- 
suaded nor compelled ; and as there were some nominated in the 
commission who never sat, and others who sat at first but durst 
not hold on, so all the rest might have declined it if they would 


when it is apparent they should have suffered nothing by so 

Algernon Sidney, although bent upon a republic, opposed the 
trial, apprehending that the project of a commonwealth would 
fail if the King's life were touched. It is related that Cromwell, 
irritated by these scruples, exclaimed: "No one will stir. I tell 
you, we will cut his head off with the crown upon it." Such dar- 
ing may appear the result of ambition or fear or revenge or 
innate cruelty in a few men who had obtained a temporary ascen- 
dency. These men were, on the contrary, the organs of a wide- 
spread determination among thousands throughout the country, 
who had long preached and argued and prophesied about ven- 
geance on "the great delinquent"; and who had ever in their 
mouths the text that "blood defileth the land, and the land can- 
not be cleansed of the blood that is shed therein, but by the blood 
of him that shed it." 1 They had visions of a theocracy, and were 
impatient of an earthly king. 

Do we believe, as some, not without reasonable grounds, may 
believe, that the members of the high court of justice expressed 
such convictions upon a simulated religious confidence ? Do we 
think that, in the clear line of action which Cromwell especially 
had laid down for his guidance, he cloaked his worldly ambition 
under the guise of being moved by some higher impulse than that 
of taking the lead in a political revolution ? Certainly we do not. 
The infinite mischiefs of assuming that the finger of God directly 
points out the way to believers when they are walking in dan- 
gerous and devious paths may be perfectly clear to us who 
calmly look back upon the instant events which followed upon 
Cromwell's confidence in his solemn call to a fearful duty. But 
we are not the more to believe, because the events have a char- 
acter of guilt in the views of most persons, that such a declared 
conviction was altogether, or in any degree, a lie. 

Those were times in which, more for good than for evil, men 
believed in the immediate direction of a special providence in 
great undertakings. The words "God hath given us the vic- 
tory" were not with them a mere form. If we trace* amid these 
solemn impulses the workings of a deep sagacity — the union of 

1 Ludlow uses this text, from Numbers xxxv, in explaining his con- 


the fierce resolves of a terrible enthusiasm with the foresight and 
energy of an ever-present common-sense — we are not the more 
to conclude that their spiritualism or fanaticism or whatever we 
please to call their ruling principle was less sincere by being 
mixed up with the ordinary motives through which the affairs of 
the world are carried on. Indeed, when we look to the future 
course of English history, and see — as those who have no belief in 
a higher direction of the destiny of nations than that of human 
wisdom can alone turn away from seeing — that the inscrutable 
workings of a supreme power led our country in the fulness of 
time to internal peace and security after these storms, and in a 
great degree in consequence of them, can we refuse our belief 
that the tragical events of those days were ordered for our good ? 
Acknowledging that the overthrow of a rotten throne was nec- 
essary for the building up of a throne that should have its sole 
stable foundation in the welfare of the people, can we affirm that 
the men who did the mightier portion of that work— sternly, un- 
flinchingly, illegally, yet ever professing to "seek to know the 
mind of God in all that chain of Providence" — are quite cor- 
rectly described, in the statute for their attainder, as "a party of 
wretched men, desperately wicked, and hardened in their im- 
piety" ? 

On January 19th Major Harrison appeared again at Wind- 
sor with his troop. There was a coach with six horses in the 
court-yard, in which the King took his seat ; and, once more, he 
entered London, and was lodged at St. James' palace. The 
next day the high court of justice was opened in Westminster 
hall. The King came from St. James' in a sedan ; and after the 
names of the members of the court had been called, sixty-nine 
being present, Bradshaw, the president, ordered the sergeant to 
bring in the prisoner. Silently the King sat down in the chair 
prepared for him. He moved not his hat, as he looked sternly 
and contemptuously around. The sixty-nine rose not from their 
seats and remained covered. It is scarcely eight years since he 
was a spectator of the last solemn trial in this hall — that of Straf- 
ford. What mighty events have happened since that time ! 

There are memorials hanging from the roof which tell such a 
history as his saddest fears in the hour of Strafford's death could 
scarcely have shaped out. The tattered banners taken from his 


Cavaliers at Marston Moor and Naseby are floating above his 
head. There, too, are the same memorials of Preston. But still 
he looks around him proudly and severely. Who are the men 
that are to judge him, the King, who " united in his person 
every possible claim by hereditary right to the English as well as 
the Scottish throne, being the heir both of Egbert and William 
the Conqueror" ? These men are, in his view, traitors and reb- 
els, from Bradshaw, the lawyer, who sits in the foremost chair, 
calling himself lord-president, to Cromwell and Marten in the 
back seat, over whose heads are the red cross of England and the 
harp of Ireland, painted on an escutcheon, while the proud bear- 
ings of a line of kings are nowhere visible. 

Under what law does this insolent president address him as 
"Charles Stuart, King of England," and say: "The Commons 
of England being deeply sensible of the calamities that have been 
brought upon this nation, which are fixed upon you as the prin- 
cipal author of them, have resolved to make inquisition for 
blood"? He will defy their authority. The clerk reads the 
charge, and when he is accused therein of being tyrant and 
traitor he laughs in the face of the court. "Though his tongue 
usually hesitated, yet it was very free at this time, for he was 
never discomposed in mind," writes Warwick. "And yet," it is 
added, "as he confessed himself to the Bishop of London that 
attended him, one action shocked him very much; for while he 
was leaning in the court upon his staff, which had a head of gold, 
the head broke off on a sudden. He took it up, but seemed un- 
concerned, yet told the Bishop it really made a great impression 
upon him." It was the symbol of the treacherous hopes upon 
which he had rested — golden dreams that vanished in this sol- 
emn hour. 

Again and again contending against the authority of the 
court, the King was removed, and the sitting was adjourned to 
the 2 2d. On that day the same scene was renewed; and again 
on the 23d. A growing sympathy for the monarch became appar- 
ent. The cries of "Justice, justice!" which were heard at first 
were now mingled with ' ' God save the King ! " He had refused to 
plead; but the court nevertheless employed the 24th and 25th of 
January in collecting evidence to prove the charge of his levying 
war against the Parliament. Coke, the solicitor-general, then 


demanded whether the court would proceed to pronouncing sen- 
tence; and the members adjourned to the Painted Chamber. 

On the 27th the public sitting was resumed. When the name 
of Fairfax was called, a voice was heard from the gallery, "He 
has too much wit to be here." The King was brought in; and, 
when the president addressed the commissioners, and said that 
the prisoner was before the court to answer a charge of high 
treason and other crimes brought against him in the name of 
the people of England, the voice from the gallery was again heard, 
"It's a lie — not one-half of them." The voice came from Lady 
Fairfax. The court, Bradshaw then stated, had agreed upon 
the sentence. 

Ludlow records that the King "desired to make one propo- 
sition before they proceeded to sentence ; which he earnestly press- 
ing, as that which he thought would lead to the reconciling of all 
parties, and to the peace of the three kingdoms, they permitted 
him to offer it : the effect of which was that he might meet the 
two Houses in the Painted Chamber, to whom he doubted not 
to offer that which should satisfy and secure all interests." Lud- 
low goes on to say, " Designing, as I have been since informed, 
to propose his own resignation, and the admission of his son 
to the throne upon such terms as should have been agreed 

The commissioners retired to deliberate, "and being satis- 
fied, upon debate, that nothing but loss of time would be the 
consequence of it, they returned into the court with a negative 
to his demand." Bradshaw then delivered a solemn speech to 
the King, declaring how he had through his reign endeavored to 
subvert the laws and introduce arbitrary government; how he 
had attempted, from the beginning, either to destroy parlia- 
ments or to render them subservient to his own designs ; how he 
had levied war against the Parliament, by the terror of his power 
to discourage forever such assemblies from doing their duty, and 
that in this war many thousands of the good people of England 
had lost their lives. The clerk was lastly commanded to read the 
sentence, that his head should be severed from his body; "and 
the commissioners," says Ludlow, "testified their unanimous 
assent by standing up." The King attempted to speak, "but, 
being accounted dead in law, was not permitted." 



On January 29th the court met to sign the sentence of exe- 
cution, addressed to " Colonel Francis Hacker, Colonel Huncks, 
and Lieutenant- Colonel Phayr, and to every one of them." This 
is the memorable document: 

"Whereas Charles Stuart, king of England, is and standeth 
convicted, attainted and condemned of High Treason and other 
high Crimes : and Sentence upon Saturday last was pronounced 
against him by this Court, to be put to death by the severing of 
his head from his body; of which Sentence execution remaineth 
to be done : 

" These are therefore to will and require you to see the said 
Sentence executed, in the open street before Whitehall, upon the 
morrow, being the thirtieth day of this instant month of Janu- 
ary, between the hours of ten in the morning and five in the after- 
noon with full effect. And for so doing, this shall be your war- 

" And these are to require all Officers and Soldiers, and others 
the good people of this Nation of England, to be assisting unto 
you in this service. 

" Given under our hands and seals. 

"John Bradshaw. 
"Thomas Grey. 
"Oliver Cromwell." 

And fifty-six others. 

The statements of the heartless buffoonery, and the daring 
violence of Cromwell, at the time of signing the warrant, must 
be received with some suspicion. He smeared Henry Marten's 
face with the ink of his pen, and Marten in return smeared his, 
say the narratives. Probably so. With reference to this anec- 
dote it has been wisely observed, "Such 'toys of desperation' 
commonly bubble up from a deep flowing stream below." An- 
other anecdote is told by Clarendon; that Colonel Ingoldsby, 
one who signed the warrant, was forced to do so with great vio- 
lence, by Cromwell and others; "and Cromwell, with a loud 
laughter, taking his hand in his, and putting the pen between his 
fingers, with his own hand writ 'Richard Ingoldsby/ he making 
all the resistance he could." 

Ingoldsby gave this relation, in the desire to obtain a pardon 


after the Restoration; and to confirm his story he said, "if his 
name there were compared with what he had ever writ himself, 
it could never be looked upon as his own hand." Warburton, in 
a note upon this passage, says, "The original warrant is still ex- 
tant, and Ingoldsby's name has no such mark of its being wrote 
in that manner. " 

The King knew his fate. He resigned himself to it with 
calmness and dignity; with one exceptional touch of natural 
human passion, when he said to Bishop Juxon, although resign- 
ing himself to meet his God: " We will not talk of these rogues, 
in whose hands I am; they thirst for my blood, and they will 
have it, and God's will be done. I thank God, I heartily forgive 
them, and I will talk of them no more." He took an affectionate 
leave of his daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, twelve years old; 
and of his son, the Duke of Gloucester, of the age of eight. To 
him he said : " Mark, child, what I say : they will cut off my head, 
and perhaps make thee king; but thou must not be king so long 
as thy brothers Charles and James live." And the child said, 
"I will be torn in pieces first." 

There were some attempts to save him. The Dutch am- 
bassador made vigorous efforts to procure a reprieve, while the 
French and Spanish ambassadors were inert. The ambassadors 
from the states nevertheless persevered, and early in the day of 
the 30th obtained some glimmering of hope from Fairfax. " But 
we found," they say in their despatch, "in front of the house in 
which we had just spoken with the general, about two hundred 
horsemen ; and we learned, as well on our way as on reaching 
home, that all the streets, passages, and squares of London were 
occupied by troops, so that no one could pass, and that the ap- 
proaches of the city were covered with cavalry, so as to prevent 
anyone from coming in or going out. The same day, between 
two and three o'clock, the King was taken to a scaffold covered 
with black, erected before Whitehall." 

To that scaffold before Whitehall Charles walked, sur- 
rounded by soldiers, through the leafless avenues of St. James' 
Park. It was a bitterly cold morning. Evelyn records that the 
Thames was frozen over. The season was so sharp that the 
King asked to have a shirt more than ordinary when he care- 
fully dressed himself. He left St. James' at ten o'clock. He 


remained in his chamber at Whitehall for about three hours in 
player, and then received the sacrament. He was pressed to 
dine, but refused, taking a piece of bread and a glass of wine. 
His purposed address to the people was delivered only to the 
hearing of those upon the scaffold, but its purport was that the 
people " mistook the nature of government; for people are free 
under a government, not by being sharers in it, but by due ad- 
ministration of the laws of it." His theory of government was a 
consistent one. He had the misfortune not to understand that 
the time had been fast passing away for its assertion. The heads- 
man did his office ; and a deep groan went up from the surround- 
ing multitude. 

It is scarcely necessary that we should offer any opinion upon 
this tremendous event. The world had never before seen an act 
so daring conducted with such a calm determination; and the 
few moderate men of that time balanced the illegality and also 
the impolicy of the execution of Charles, by the fact that "it was 
not done in a corner," and that those who directed or sanctioned 
the act offered no apology, but maintained its absolute necessity 
and justice. "That horrible sentence upon the most innocent 
person in the world ; the execution of that sentence by the most 
execrable murder that was ever committed since that of our 
blessed Saviour," forms the text which Clarendon gave for the 
rhapsodies of party during two centuries. On the other hand, 
the eloquent address of Milton to the people of England has 
been in the hearts and mouths of many who have known that 
the establishment of the liberties of their country, duly subordi- 
nated by the laws of a free monarchy, may be dated from this 
event : " God has endued you with greatness of mind to be the 
first of mankind, who, after having conquered their own king, 
and having had him delivered into their hands, have not scru- 
pled to condemn him judicially, and, pursuant to that sentence 
of condemnation, to put him to death." 

In these times in England, when the welfare of the throne 
and the people are identical, we can, on the one hand, afford to 
refuse our assent to the blasphemous comparison of Clarendon 
— blasphemy more offensively repeated in the church service for 
January 30th ; and at the same time affirm that the judicial con- 
demnation which Milton so admires was illegal, unconstitu- 


tional, and in its immediate results dangerous to liberty. But 
feeling that far greater dangers would have been incurred if "the 
caged tiger had been let loose," and knowing that out of the er- 
rors and anomalies of those times a wiser revolution grew, for 
which the first more terrible revolution was a preparation, we 
may cease to examine this great historical question in any bitter- 
ness of spirit, and even acknowledge that the death of Charles, 
a bad king, though in some respects a good man, was necessary 
for the life of England, and for her "teaching other nations how 
to live." 

We must accept as just and true Milton's admonition to his 
countrymen in reference to this event, which he terms "so glo- 
rious an action," with many reasonable qualifications as to its 
glory ; and yet apply even to ourselves his majestic words : "After 
the performing so glorious an action as this, you ought to do noth- 
ing that is mean and little, not so much as to think of, much less 
to do, anything but what is great and sublime. Which to attain 
to, this is your only way : as you have subdued your enemies in 
the field, so to make appear, that unarmed, and in the highest 
outward peace and tranquillity, you of all mankind are best able 
to subdue ambition, avarice, the love of riches, and can best 
avoid the corruptions that prosperity is apt to introduce — which 
generally subdue and triumph over other nations — to show as 
great justice, temperance, and moderation in the maintaining 
your liberty, as you have shown courage in freeing yourselves 
from slavery." 


A.D. 1649 


Alike on account of its effect upon the Irish people and by reason of 
the historical debate of which it has continued to be the subject, Crom- 
well's Irish campaign is a matter of much moment to students of British 
policy and conquest. 

Cromwell had already won a complete victory for the Parliamentary 
forces over the Royalists of England and Scotland, and had suppressed 
an insurrection in Wales. As a member of the High Court he had signed 
the death-warrant of Charles I, and on the establishment of the Com- 
monwealth, early in 1649, n ^ s preeminence in both military and political 
leadership gave him almost absolute control of the English govern- 

In 1641 there had been a Catholic uprising in Ireland which was at- 
tended with considerable success, won at the cost of slaughter often 
characterized as massacre. Although Charles I made peace with the 
insurrectionists in 1643, an d soon afterward most of them became Royal- 
ists, disorders in Ireland still continued. At last the English Parliament 
resolved to put an end to these tumults, and in March, 1649, Cromwell 
was appointed to the supreme command in Ireland. 

Among the many able writers on Oliver Cromwell none has treated this 
portion of his career with greater clearness and impartiality than Fred- 
eric Harrison, whose history of the campaign in Ireland has been se- 
lected, particularly for the sake of these merits, for presentation here. 

^HE reconquest of Ireland was by all felt to be the most urgent 
interest of the young commonwealth; there was almost as 
much agreement to intrust Cromwell with the task; and after 
some consideration, and prayerful consultations in the army, he 
accepted the duty. The condition of England was precarious 
indeed ; service in Ireland was not popular in the army ; and an 
ambitious adventurer would have been loath to quit England 
while the first place was still unoccupied. It was at great risk to 
the cause, and at much personal sacrifice, that Cromwell accepted 
the difficult post in Ireland as his first duty to his country and to 



His campaign and the subsequent settlement in Ireland are 
among those things which weigh heaviest on Cromwell's memory, 
and which of his stoutest admirers one only has heartily ap- 
proved. Fortunately, there is no part of his policy where his 
conduct is more simple and his motives are more plain. The 
Irish policy of Cromwell was the traditional policy of all English- 
men of his creed and party, and was distinguished from theirs 
only by his personal vigor and thoroughness. He was neither 
better nor worse than the English Puritans, or rather all English 
statesmen for many generations : he was only keener and stronger. 
When he, with Vane, Fairfax, Whitelocke, and other commis- 
sioners, went to the Guildhall to obtain a loan for the campaign, 
they told the common council that this was a struggle not between 
Independent and Presbyterian, but between papist and Protes- 
tant ; that papacy or popery was not to be endured in that king- 
dom ; and they cited the maxim of James I : " Plant Ireland with 
Puritans, root out papists, and then secure it." 

To Cromwell, as to all English Puritans, it seemed a self-evi- 
dent truth that one of the three realms could not be suffered to 
become Catholic; as little could it be suffered to become inde- 
pendent, or the open practice of the Catholic religion allowed 
there, any more than in England; finally, that peace and pros- 
perity could never be secured in Ireland without a dominant and 
preponderating order of English birth and Protestant belief. By 
Cromwell, as by the whole Puritan body — we may fairly say by 
the whole body of Protestants— the Irish rebellion of 1641 was 
believed to have opened with a barbarous, treacherous, and 
wholesale massacre, followed during nine years by one prolonged 
scene of confusion and bloodshed, ending in an almost complete 
extinction of the Protestant faith and English interests. 

The victorious party, and Cromwell more deeply than others, 
entered on the recovery of Ireland in the spirit of a religious war, 
to restore to the Protestant cause one of the three realms which 
had revolted to the powers of darkness. Such was for centuries 
the spirit of Protestant England. 

Five months were occupied in the preparations for this distant 
and difficult campaign. Cromwell's nomination was on March 
15, 1649. On the same day Milton was appointed Latin secre- 
tary to the council. During April Cromwell arranged the mar- 


riage of his eldest son with the daughter of a very quiet, unam- 
bitious squire. On July 10th he set forth from London with 
much military state. His lifeguard was a body of gentlemen " as 
is hardly to be paralleled in the world." He still waited a month 
in the West, his wife and family around him ; and thence wrote 
his beautiful letter to Mayor about his son, and the letter to " my 
beloved daughter Dorothy Cromwell, at Hursley." 

At length all was ready, and he set sail on August 13th with 
nine thousand men in about one hundred ships. He was invested 
with supreme civil, as well as military, command in Ireland; 
amply supplied with material and a fleet. Ireton, his son-in- 
law, was his second in command. 

On landing in Dublin, the general made a speech to the people, 
in which he spoke of his purpose as "the great work against the 
barbarous and bloodthirsty Irish, and all their adherents and 
confederates, for the propagating of the gospel of Christ, the 
establishing of truth and peace, and restoring that bleeding nation 
to its former happiness and tranquillity." His first act was to 
remodel the Irish army, making " a huge purge of the army which 
we found here: it was an army made up of dissolute and de- 
bauched men"; and the general issued a proclamation against 
swearing and drunkenness, and another against the "wicked- 
ness" that had been taken by the soldiery "to abuse, rob, and 
pillage, and too often to execute cruelties upon the country peo- 
ple," promising to protect all peaceable inhabitants, and to pay 
them in ready money for all goods. Two soldiers were shortly 
hanged for disobeying these orders. 

Having made a general muster of his forces in Dublin, and 
formed a complete body of fifteen thousand horse and foot, he 
selected a force of ten thousand stout, resolute men, and advanced 
on Drogheda (in English, Tredagh). Drogheda is a seaport 
town on the Boyne, about twenty-three miles due north of Dub- 
lin. It was strongly fortified, and Ormonde, 1 as Clarendon tells 
us, had put into it "the flower of his army, both of soldiers and 
officers, most oj them English, to the number of three thousand 
foot, and two or three good troops of horse, provided with all 
things." Sir Arthur Ashton, an English Catholic, an officer "of 

1 James Butler, first Duke of Ormonde, was now head of the Irish 
Royalists. — Ed. 

e., vol. xi. — 22. 


great name and experience, and who at that time made little 
doubt of defending it against all the power of Cromwell," was in 
chief command. 

Cromwell's horse reached Drogheda on September 3d, his 
memorable day; some skirmishes followed, and on the 10th the 
batteries opened in earnest, after formal summons to the garrison 
to surrender. A steeple and a tower were beaten down the first 
day; all through the nth the batteries continued, and at length 
effected "two reasonable breaches." About five in the evening 
of the second day the storm began. "After some hot dispute we 
entered, about seven or eight hundred men ; the enemy disputing 
it very stiffly with us." But a tremendous rally of the garrison 
— wherein Colonel Castle and other officers were killed — drove 
out the column, which retreated disheartened and baffled. Then 
the general did that which as commander he was seldom wont 
to do, and which he passes in silence in his despatches. 

"Resolved," says Ludlow, "to put all upon it, he went down 
to the breach; and calling out a fresh reserve of Colonel Ewer's 
men, he put himself at their head, and with the word 'our Lord 
God,' led them up again with courage and resolution, though 
they met with a hot dispute." Thus encouraged to recover their 
loss, they got ground of the enemy, forced him to quit his in- 
trenchments, and poured into the town. There many retreated 
to the Millmount, a place very strong and difficult of access; 
"exceedingly high and strongly palisaded." This place com- 
manded the whole town: thither Sir Arthur Ashton and other 
important officers had betaken themselves. But the storming 
party burst in, and were ordered by Cromwell to put them all to 
the sword. The rest of the garrison fled over the bridge to the 
northern side of the town ; but the Ironsides followed them hotly, 
both horse and foot, and drove them into St. Peter's Church and 
the towers of the ramparts. 

St. Peter's Church was set on fire by Cromwell's order. He 
writes to the speaker: "Indeed, being in the heat of action, I 
forbade them to spare any that were in arms in the town : and I 
think that night they put to the sword about two thousand men." 
Next day the other towers were summoned, and the work of 
slaughter was renewed for two days, until the entire garrison was 
annihilated. It was unquestionably a massacre. "That night 


they put to the sword about two thousand men." In St. Peters 
Church " near a thousand of them were put to the sword, fleeing 
thither for safety." "Their friars were knocked on the head 
promiscuously." "I do not think we lost a hundred men upon 
the place." Such are a few passages from Cromwell's own de- 

The slaughter was indeed prodigious. The general writes: 
"I believe we put to the sword the whole number of the defend- 
ants. I do not think thirty of the whole number escaped with 
their lives." "The enemy were about three thousand strong in 
the town." " I do not believe, neither do I hear, that any officer 
escaped with his life, save only one lieutenant." He subse- 
quently gives a detailed list of the slain, amounting to about three 
thousand. Hugh Peters, the chaplain, reports as follows: 

" Sir, the truth is, Drogheda is taken, three thousand ^ve hun- 
dred fifty- two of the enemy slain, and sixty- four of ours. Ashton 
the governor, killed, none spared." It is also certain that quar- 
ter was refused. " I forbade them to spare any that were in arms 
in the town." It is expressly told us that all officers and all priests 
taken were killed. From the days of Clarendon it has been re- 
peated by historians that men, women, and children were indis- 
criminately slaughtered, and there is evidence of an eye-witness to 
that effect; but this is not believed to have been done by the 
order, or even with the knowledge, of the general. The Royalist 
accounts insist that quarter was promised at first; and that the 
butchery of men in cold blood was carried on for days. Here 
again the act must have been exceptional and without authority. 

To Cromwell himself this fearful slaughter was a signal tri- 
umph of the truth. " It hath pleased God to bless our endeav- 
ors." " This hath been a marvellous great mercy." " I am per- 
suaded that this is a righteous judgment of God upon these 
barbarous wretches, who have imbrued their hands in so much 
innocent blood; and that it will tend to prevent the effusion of 
blood for the future. Which are the satisfactory grounds to such 
actions, which otherwise cannot but work remorse and regret." 
" It was set upon some of our hearts, That a great thing should 
be done, not by power or might, but by the Spirit of God." In 
the same sense it was received by Parliament and council of 
state, by some of the noblest spirits of their age. 


Ludlow says simply that this " extraordinary severity was used 
to discourage others from making opposition. " It had always 
been the policy of Cromwell in battle to inflict a crushing defeat ; 
at Marston, at Naseby, and at Preston he had "taken execution 
of the enemy" for hours and over miles of country. At Basing 
and elsewhere, after a summons and a storm, he had slaughtered 
hundreds without mercy. And such was the law of war in that 
age, practised on both sides without hesitation. But the item 
of numbers and of time tells very heavily here. The killing of 
hundreds in hot blood differs from the massacre of thousands 
during days. 

There was no such act in the whole civil war as the massacre — 
prolonged for days — of three thousand men enclosed in walls 
entirely at the mercy of their captors, to say nothing of the pro- 
miscuous slaughter of priests, if not of women and unarmed 

In England such a deed could not have been done; and not in 
Ireland, but that they were Catholics fighting in defence of their 
faith. The fact that the garrison were Catholics, fighting on 
Irish soil, placed them, to the Puritan Englishman, out of the 
pale. No admiration for Cromwell, for his genius, courage, and 
earnestness — no sympathy with the cause that he upheld in Eng- 
land — can blind us to the truth, that the lurid light of this great 
crime burns still after centuries across the history of England and 
of Ireland ; that it is one of those damning charges which the Puri- 
tan theology has yet to answer at the bar of humanity. 

The tremendous blow at Drogheda struck terror into Or- 
monde's forces. Dundalk and Trim were abandoned in haste. 
O'Neil swore a great oath that as Cromwell had stormed Drog- 
heda, if he should storm hell he should take it. One fort after 
another yielded; and in a fortnight from the taking of Drogheda 
Cromwell was master of the country north of Dublin. Marching 
from Dublin south, on September 23d, his army took forts in 
Wicklow, Arklow, and Enniscorthy; and on October 1st the 
general encamped before Wexford, an important seaport at the 
southeastern corner of the island. The town was strong, with a 
rampart fifteen feet thick, a garrison of over two thousand men, 
one hundred cannon, and in the harbor two ships armed with fifty- 
four guns. 


Cromwell summoned the governor to surrender, not obscurely 
threatening him with the fate of Drogheda. "It will clearly ap- 
pear," he said, "where the guilt will lie if innocent persons 
should come to suffer with the nocent." His terms were quarter 
and prison to the officers, quarter and freedom to the soldiers, 
protection from plunder to the town. These terms were refused, 
and both sides continued the fight. Suddenly, some breaches 
being made in the castle, the captain surrendered it, and by a 
surprise the whole army of the Commonwealth poured into the 
town. The townsmen took part in the defence ; and townsmen 
and garrison together were forced into the market-place. 

There, as at Drogheda, a promiscuous massacre ensued. Up- 
ward of two thousand were slain, and with them not a few of 
the citizens; and the town was delivered over to pillage. It is 
asserted by the Catholic writers that a body of women, who had 
taken refuge round the cross, were deliberately slaughtered, and 
that a general massacre took place without regard to sex or age. 
Priests were killed at once, and in the sack and pillage un- 
doubtedly some noncombatants, it may be some women and 
children. But these things were incidents of such a storm, and 
were not done by design or order of the general. This is his 
own story: 

" While I was preparing of it; studying to preserve the Town 
from plunder, that it might be of the more use to you and your 
Army — the Captain, who was one of the Commissioners, being 
fairly treated, yielded up the Castle to us. Upon the top of which 
our men no sooner appeared, but the Enemy quitted the Walls of 
the Town; which our men perceiving, ran violently upon the 
Town with their ladders, and stormed it. And when they were 
come into the market-place, the Enemy making a stiff resistance, 
our forces brake them ; and then put all to the sword that came 
in their way. Two boatfuls of the Enemy attempting to escape, 
being overprest with numbers, sank; whereby were drowned 
near three hundred of them. I believe, in all, there was lost of 
the Enemy not many less than Two- thousand ; and I believe not 
Twenty of yours from first to last of the Siege. And indeed it 
hath, not without cause, been deeply set upon our hearts, That, 
we intending better to this place than so great a ruin, hoping the 
Town might be of more use to you a.nd your Army, yet God 


would not have it so; but by an unexpected providence, in His 
righteous justice, brought a just judgment upon them; causing 
them to become a prey to the Soldier — who in their piracies had 
made preys of so many families, and now with their bloods to 
answer the cruelties which they have exercised upon the lives of 
divers poor Protestants! 

" This Town is now so in your power, that of the former inhab- 
itants, I believe scarce one in twenty can challenge any property 
in their houses. Most of them are run away, and many of them 
killed in this service. And it were to be wished that an honest 
people would come and plant here." 

The blow that had desolated Drogheda and Wexford did not 
need to be repeated. Ross was taken ; the Munster garrisons — 
Cork, Kinsale, and others — joined the Commonwealth. And 
within three months of Cromwell's march from Dublin, the whole 
of the towns on the eastern and southern sides of Ireland, except 
Waterford and some others, were reduced to the Parliament. 
Waterford resisted them ; a wet winter set in ; and with the wet, 
dysentery and fever. Cromwell fell ill; many officers sickened; 
General Jones died. " What England lost hereby is above me to 
speak," wrote the general. " I am sure I lost a noble friend and 
companion in labors. You see how God mingles out the cup to 
us. Indeed we are at this time a crazy company : yet we live in 
His sight ; and shall work the time that is appointed us, and shall 
rest after that in peace." 

After a short rest, on January 29th Cromwell was again in 
the field. He passed into the heart of the island — into Kilkenny 
and Tipperary; Clogheen, Castletown, Fethard, Callan, Cashel, 
Cahir, Kilkenny, Carrick, were taken after a short defence ; and 
Clonmel at last surrendered after a desperate attempt at storm, 
which cost Cromwell, it is said, two thousand men. This was 
his last great fight in Ireland. He had now crushed opposition 
in the whole east and south of the island ; the north had returned 
to the Protestant cause; Waterford fell soon after; and except 
Limerick, Galway, and a few fortresses, the Parliament's forces 
were masters of the island. Cromwell had been nine months in 
Ireland, and at no time possessed an army of more than fifteen 
thousand men. Within that time he had taken a score of strong 
places, and in a series of bloody encounters had dispersed or anni- 


hilated armies of far greater number than his own. An official 
summons to England had been sent in January; and it was not 
till the end of May that he actually obeyed it. 

As Cromwell's practice in warfare in Ireland differed some- 
what from what he observed elsewhere, and as from that day to 
this it has been the subject of furious invective, a few words 
thereon are plainly needed. Cromwell had gone to Ireland, at 
imminent risk to his cause, to recover it to the Parliament in the 
shortest possible time, and with a relatively small army. He had 
gone there first to punish, as was believed, a wholesale massacre 
and a social revolution, to restore the Irish soil to England, and 
to replace the Protestant ascendency. In the view of the Com- 
monwealth government, the mass was by law a crime, Catholic 
priests were legally outlaws, and all who resisted the Parliament 
were constructively guilty of murder and rebellion. Such were 
the accepted axioms of the whole Puritan party, and of Cromwell 
as much as any man. 

In such a war he held that where a place was stormed after 
summons, all in arms might justly be put to the sword, though 
no longer capable of resistance, and though they amounted to 
thousands. "They," he writes, " refusing conditions seasonably 
offered, were all put to the sword." Repeatedly he shot all offi- 
cers who surrendered at discretion. Officers who had once 
served the Parliament he hanged. Priests, taken alive, were 
hanged. " As for your clergymen, as you call them," wrote Oli- 
ver to the governor of Kilkenny, "in case you agree for a surren- 
der, they shall march away safely ; but if they fall otherwise into 
my hands, I believe they know what to expect from me." At 
Gowran the castle surrendered. "The next day the colonel, the 
major, and the rest of the commission officers were shot to death. 
In the same castle also he took a popish priest, who was chap- 
lain to the Catholics in this regiment; who was caused to be 

The Bishop of Ross, marching to save Clonmel with five thou- 
sand men, was defeated by Broghill, captured, and hanged in 
sight of his own men. The Bishop of Clogher was routed by 
Coote and Venables and shared the same fate. "All their friars 
were knocked on the head promiscuously," Cromwell wrote at 
Drogheda — as the Catholic martyrologies assert, with torture. 


Peaceable inhabitants were not to be molested. But all who had 
taken part in or supported the rebellion of 1641 were liable to 

For soldiers he found a new career. By a stroke of profound 
policy he encouraged foreign embassies to enlist Irish volunteers, 
giving them a free pass abroad. And thus it is said some forty 
thousand Irishmen ultimately passed into the service of foreign 
sovereigns. With great energy and skill the Lord-Lieutenant set 
about the reorganization of government in Ireland. A leading 
feature of this was the Cromwellian settlement afterward carried 
out under the Protectorate, by which immense tracts of land in 
the provinces of Ulster, Leinster, and Munster were allotted to 
English settlers, and the landowners of Irish birth removed into 

Cromwell has left on record his own principles of action in the 
famous declaration which he issued in January in reply to the 
Irish bishops: 

"Ireland," he says, " was once united to England. English- 
men had inheritances and leases which they had purchased : 
and they lived peaceably. You broke this Union. You, unpro- 
voked, put the English to the most unheard-of and most barbar- 
ous massacre (without respect of sex or age) that ever the sun 
beheld. It is a fig-leaf of pretence that they fight for their king : 
really it is for men guilty of blood — helium prelaticum et religi- 
osum — as you say. You are a part of Anti- Christ, whose king- 
dom the Scripture so expressly speaks should be laid in blood, 
yea, in the blood of the saints. 

" You quote my own words at Ross," he says, " that where the 
Parliament of England have power, the exercise of the mass will 
not be allowed of; and you say that this is a design to extirpate 
the Catholic religion. I cannot extirpate what has never been 
rooted. These are my intentions. I shall not, where I have 
power, suffer the exercise of the mass. Nor shall I suffer any 
Papists, where I find them seducing the people, or by overt act 
violating the laws. As for the people, what thoughts they have 
in matters of religion in their own breasts I cannot reach." 

But as to the charge of massacre, destruction, or banishment 
he says: " Give us an instance of one man since my coming into 
Ireland, not in arms, massacred, destroyed or banished; con- 


cerning the massacre or the destruction of whom justice hath not 
been done, or endeavored to be done." 

This very pointed and daring challenge could hardly have been 
publicly made by such a man as Cromwell, if, to his knowledge, a 
slaughter of women and unarmed men had occurred. On the 
other hand, it is certain that priests and others had been killed in 
cold blood ; and a general who delivers over a city to pillage, and 
forbids quarter, can hardly say where outrage and massacre will 
cease. As to banishment, the "Cromwellian settlement" was 
necessarily based on the banishment of those whom the settlers 

With regard to the policy of confiscation and resettlement, 
Cromwell warmly justifies it. It is the just way of meeting re- 
bellion, he says. You have forfeited your estates, and it is just 
to raise money by escheating your lands. But apart from the 
land forfeited, which is but a part of the accouni, if ever men were 
engaged in a just and righteous cause it was thii, he asserts: 

"We are come to ask an account of the innocent blood that 
hath been shed ; and to endeavor to bring to an account — by the 
presence and blessing of the Almighty, in whom alone is our hope 
and strength — all who, by appearing in arms, seek to justify the 
same. We come to break the power of lawless Rebels, who hav- 
ing cast off the Authority of England, live as enemies to Human 
Society; whose principles, the world hath experience, are, To 
destroy and subjugate all men not complying with them. We 
come, by the assistance of God, to hold forth and maintain the 
lustre and glory of English Liberty in a Nation where we have an 
undoubted right to do it ; — wherein the people of Ireland (if they 
listen not to such seducers as you are) may equally participate in 
all benefits ; to use liberty and fortune equally with Englishmen, 
if they keep out of arms." 

Such was the basis of the famous "Cromwellian settlement" 
— by far the most thorough act in the long history of the conquest 
of Ireland ; by far the most wholesale effort to impose on Ireland 
the Protestant faith and English ascendency. Wholesale and 
thorough, but not enough for its purpose. It failed like all the 
others ; did more, perhaps, than any other to bind Ireland to the 
Catholic Church, and to alienate Irishmen from the English rule. 
On the Irish race it has left undying memories and a legend of 


tyranny which is summed up in the peasants' saying of the " Curse 
of Cromwell." 

Cromwell, not worse than the Puritans and English of his age, 
but nobler and more just, must yet for generations to come bear 
the weight of the legendary " curse." He was the incarnation of 
Puritan passion, the instrument of English ambition ; the official 
authority by whom the whole work was carried out, the one man 
ultimately responsible for the rest; and it is thus that on him lies 
chiefly the weight of this secular national quarrel. 

moli£re creates modern comedy 

A.D. 1659 


The seventeenth century was the period of a very remarkable literary 
outburst in France, an outburst which has done much to mould French 
genius of more recent times. The latter part of the century, which has 
been called the Augustan age of France, the age of Louis XIV, has cer- 
tainly been but seldom equalled in the number and variety of the writers 
who adorned it. Yet it owes much of its brilliancy, much of its rapid 
development, to the training of the decades previous to 1650, and espe- 
cially to the enthusiastic patronage of that great statesman Richelieu. 
Were a Frenchman seeking for a single event, a single date to mark the 
most striking moment of this literary era, he would probably select the 
foundation of the French Academy by Richelieu, in 1635. Or perhaps he 
might turn to the production of Corneille's most famous tragedy, Le 
Cid, in 1633. Neither of these events, however, has quite what we would 
recognize as a world-wide significance. The Academy has done much 
for France, but it has always remained a French academy, and the forty 
" immortal" Frenchmen who constitute its membership have not always 
owed their election solely to literary eminence. Neither have Corneille's 
tragedies been accepted as models by the world at large. 

But under Corneille's influence the French stage developed from a 
state of buffoonery and wooden imitation of the ancients to a state where 
a greater artist than Corneille gave it really world-wide prominence. 
Moliere is not only the most celebrated of French actor-managers; he is 
the greatest of all character-comedy writers, the teacher of all future 
generations, and the satiric scourge of his own. When in 1659 his com- 
edy Les firdcieuses Ridicules took Paris by storm, it did more than make 
a reformation of the manners of its own. It taught the world what true 
comedy should be, and it sent ringing through the universe forever a 
mighty trumpet-note against hypocrisy and folly. 

'"PHE drama attained its highest excellence and repute in the 
age of Louis XIV, and we should not be making a very haz- 
ardous assertion if we were to say that the literature of that epoch 
in France attained its height of glory in the drama. No French 
dramatist has excelled Moliere, Corneille, and Racine; no group 
of authors in the seventeenth century were more brilliant, more 



powerful, more originative. When we turn our eyes upon the 
stage for which these three wrote, we find ourselves in the full 
splendor of the Augustan age, in all its refinement and culture, 
its luxury and elegance, its strength of wit and justness of ex- 
pression, its social polish and gorgeous display. 

Great as was the advance made by the audience of Jodelle 
upon the audience of the "moralities" and " sotties," the advance 
of the court and society under the Valois was equally great. The 
Grand Monarque, listening to a masterpiece of Corneille, Mo- 
liere, or Racine, surrounded by his brilliant circle of lords and 
ladies, represented an almost incalculable development of cere- 
monious culture, in idea, in apparel, and in general surroundings, 
since the day when, about a hundred years before, while the 
blossom of the Renaissance was barely expanded, the popinjay 
King Henry II looked on at the first crude sketch of a French 
classical play. Stage, scenery, appointments, audience, critic, 
music, actors, and authors, all now bore witness to and adorned, 
as they were in fact the most elaborate product of, an Augustan 

Paris up to this time had had little opportunity of knowing 
what true comedy was. It had had farces in abundance, not only 
of home growth, but imported, and from Italy in particular. 
When Moliere came before the public with his homogeneous and 
well-trained company, and his repertory of excellent character- 
sketches and comic situations, the prevailing sentiment was ex- 
pressed by a member of the audience which listened to the first 
production of his Precieuses Ridicules: "Courage, Moliere; this 
is genuine comedy!" 

France had long been waiting for genuine comedy; waiting 
rather by an instinctive requirement of the national genius, and 
with an aptitude to appreciate the highest comic art as soon as it 
might be manifested, than with any definite conception of the 
exact thing that was lacking on the stage. The French nature 
was precisely fitted to produce and to enjoy the loftiest style of 
character- comedy, but no modern literature had hitherto exhib- 
ited that which Moliere was to provide. The author of the Pre- 
cieuses Ridicules and Tarlufje was essentially the outcome of his 
age, the dramatist of drawing-room life, whose genius enabled 
him to web the foibles of the salon with elegant phraseology, and 


scenic effect with admirable poetic expression ; and the contrast 
between his lofty and conscientious work and the puerilities and 
license of the Spanish and Italian models was as marked as it 
was readily recognized. 

Yet it was no easy matter to acclimatize in France even the 
high style of comedy introduced by Moliere, and he had to inter- 
mix it with a good many farces to make it go down. For twelve 
long years, leading the life of a strolling player, Moliere observed 
and studied character ; and when at last he thought himself safe 
from opposition, under the powerful patronage of Louis XIV, 
the Church, the University, the Sorbonne, and the bigotry of the 
statesmen — once more united as in the age of Francis I — con- 
spired to cast stumbling-blocks in the way of literary freedom. 
It was the authorities of the Church which, shocked and jeal- 
ous at the enthusiasm which greeted the appearance of Tartuffe, 
brought the veto of the King to bear against the company of the 
Palais Royal; and though Moliere believed that his private inter- 
cession had obtained the removal of this veto, his enemies were 
bold and powerful enough during the absence of Louis, on the 
further representation of the play, to prevent its production a 
second time. Moliere was able to cope with his adversaries ; yet 
it is a noteworthy fact that the decree of excommunication passed 
against comedians in France was not absolutely rescinded until 
the present century. 

We do not forget that Corneille wrote comedies before Moliere ; 
and indeed there is no doubt that the younger of the two drama- 
tists owed something, even in comedy, to the older. Moliere 
began by adapting from and imitating the Italian and Spanish 
comedy- writers, upon whom many of his first farces were founded, 
and it is not at all unlikely that he even remodelled some of the 
earlier sotties. It was perhaps due to Corneille's influence as 
much as to anything else that his genius at last discovered its 
true level. He confessed to Boileau his great indebtedness to 
Le Menteur. "When it was first performed,'' he says, "I had 
already a wish to write, but was in doubt as to what it should be. 
My ideas were still confused, but this piece determined them. 
In short, but for the appearance of Le Menteur, though I should 
no doubt have written comedies of intrigue, like UEtourdi, or 
Le Dipit Amour eux } I should perhaps never have written the 


Misanthrope" Eliminate the generosity from this confession, 
and no doubt the truth remains that Moliere did form his best 
style of comedy upon the master of French tragedy. 

Jean Baptiste Poquelin, who subsequently assumed the name 
of Moliere, was born in the year that Francois de Sales died, one 
year after the birth of La Fontaine, four years before the birth of 
his friend Chapelle and of Madame de Sevigne. When Le Cid 
was first performed he was fourteen years old, and twenty-two at 
the time of the first representation of Le Menteur. The son of a 
valet-de-chambre tapissier of Louis XIII, he succeeded in due 
course to the emoluments and honors, such as they were, of his 
father; but he had early conceived a passion for the stage, and 
in 1643 ne attached himself to the Illustre Theatre of Madeleine 
Bejart, a woman four years his senior. With her were already 
associated her brother Joseph, her sister Genevieve, about two 
years younger than Moliere, and eight others, most of whom 
had dropped out of the company before its final settlement in 

For a year or two the Illustre Theatre tempted fortune in the 
capital without success, and in 1646 they commenced a tour 
through the provinces which was destined to continue for twelve 
years. The debts which they had incurred weighed upon them 
during the whole of this time, and principally upon Moliere, who 
was once imprisoned and several times arrested at the suit of the 
company's creditors. No doubt these latter had discovered that the 
young actor had friends who would rescue him from durance, 
which was done on several occasions, but as late as 1660 we read 
of Moliere' s discharging probably the last of the debts for which 
at this period he made himself responsible. 

The plays first acted by Moliere and his friends were, of 
course, the farces then most in vogue; among others the com- 
edies of Scarron and the yet inferior productions of Denis Beys 
and Desfontaines. The former had written a ridiculous piece 
called UHdpital des Fous. The latter was the author of 
Eurynte'don ou V Illustre Pirate, V Illustre Comedien ou le Mar- 
tyre de Saint-Genes, and of several other inflated pieces. It 
would be difficult to fix the exact date at which Moliere's earliest 
plays were produced, but it is probable that he began to write for 
his company as soon as he had enlisted in it. He seems, like 


Shakespeare, to have, in part at least, adapted the plays of others ; 
but in 1653, if not earlier, he had produced VEtourdi, and in 1656 
Le Depit Amour eux. 

The Illustre Theatre is heard of at Nantes, Limoges, Bor- 
deaux, Toulouse, Narbonne, and Lyons, where Moliere produced 
his first serious attempt at high comedy in verse, VEtourdi. In 
1653 tne y P^ycd by invitation at the country seat of the Prince 
de Conti, the schoolfellow of Moliere. Three years later they 
played the Depit Amour eux at Beziers during the meeting in that 
town of the Parliament of Languedoc. At Grenoble, in 1658, 
the painter Mignard, with other of his admirers, persuaded him 
to take his company — for he was joint manager with Madeleine 
Bejart — to Paris; and this he did, after a concluding trip to 
Rouen. In Paris they began by playing before Philippe, Duke 
of Anjou, the brother of Louis XIV, who took them under his 
protection and introduced them to the court. 

At this time the company was considerably stronger, as well 
as richer, than when it left Paris. There were now four ladies, 
Madeleine Bejart, Genevieve Bejart, Duparc, and Debrie; the 
two brothers Bejart — the youngest, Louis, had joined at Lyons 
— Duparc, Debrie, Dufresne, and Croisac making, with Moliere 
himself, eleven persons. It may be concluded that their tour, 
or, at all events, that part of it which dated from Lyons, had 
been very successful; for we find that Joseph Bejart, who died 
early in 1659, left behind him a fortune of twenty-four thousand 
golden crowns. So at least we are told by the physician Guy- 
Patin in a letter dated May 27, 1659; and he adds, "Is it not 
enough to make one believe that Peru is no longer in America, 
but in Paris ?" 

The condition of the drama in Paris at the time when Moliere 
returned to the capital was anything but satisfactory. There 
were in 1658 five theatres in Paris: One at the Hotel de Bour- 
gogne; one at the Marais; one under the patronage of Mademoi- 
selle, daughter of Gaston, Duke of Orleans; a Spanish company; 
and an Italian company at the Petit Bourbon, under the man- 
agership of To relh. It was with the first and last of these that 
Moliere came chiefly into conflict; and it is probable that the 
other three were of no great account, at all events as competitors 
for the favor of the general public. Torelli soon found that the 


newcomer commanded his hundreds where he himself could only 
count by scores, and he gave up die Petit Bourbon to Moliere in 

Moliere's company called themselves " Comediens de Mon- 
sieur"; and after Torelli had left them full possession of the 
Petit Bourbon, their greatest rivals in public favor were the com- 
pany at the Hotel de Bourgogne, who played Corneille, Scudery, 
Scarron, and other authors of less note. In 1659 Moliere took 
the town by storm with his Precieuses Ridicules, a satire in one 
act on the exaggerations of the Hotel de Rambouillet. This was 
followed in the succeeding year by Sganarelle ou le Cocu Im- 
aginaire; in the beginning of 1661 appeared Don Garde de 
Navarre, a heroic piece in five acts, intended to delineate the 
evils of passionate jealousy; and in the same year were produced 
VEcole des Maris, a satire on unreasonable jealousy, and Les 
Facheux, a court sketch of several kinds of bores; in 1662 
UEcole des Femmes — an attempt to show the danger of bring- 
ing girls up in too strict a manner — with its sequel, the Critique 
de VEcole des Femmes, in the year after. 

Boursault, an amiable man but a mediocre playwright, envi- 
ous of Moliere's growing fame, wrote for the Hotel de Bourgogne, 
which eagerly accepted, if it did not bespeak, his piece, Le Por- 
trait du Peintre ou la Contrecritique de VEcole des Femmes, in 
which he attempted to bring his brother-author into ridicule; but 
Moliere took ample revenge in his Impromptu de Versailles, in 
which he soundly lashed his rivals, though it may be mentioned 
to his honor that it was never printed during his lifetime. In 
1664 he wrote the Mariage Force", a one-act piece with eight 
entrees de ballet, specially designed for court representation, in 
which the King himself was pleased to dance, and, a month or 
two later, the Princesse d> Elide, a cumbrous and comparatively 
inferior production, done in great haste at the command of Louis 
XIV, who had determined upon an eight-days' festival in honor 
of Louise de la Valliere. 

It was during these festivities that for the first time was repre- 
sented the first three acts of Moliere's masterpiece, Tartu JJe ou 
VImposteur, a play well worthy of the best and most legitimate 
subject which satire can have to deal with. Nothing can be 
fairer or more appropriate than that the art which consists in 


feigning a representation of real life on the stage should take, as 
the butt of its ridicule and the object of its skill, the man whose 
whole life and character are engaged in feigning the possession of 
virtue and seeming to be that which he is not. The earliest 
satirists and dramatists have seized on the topic with avidity; 
and to go no further out of our way than Moliere' s predecessors 
in France, we may mention the authors of the romance of Rey- 
nard the Fox, Rutebceuf ; Jean de Meung, the author of the Farce 
des BruSj Regnier, Scarron, even Pascal. 

Very various, no doubt, are the hypocritical types encountered 
in the works of these and other satirists; but all must necessarily 
have a certain amount of family likeness, and many a hereditary 
trait is recognized as common to at least two, if not to all, of the 
race. " Moliere gives us the hypocrite by nature, the man who 
would be a canting scoundrel even if it did not ' pay ' ; who can- 
not help being so ; who is a human being, and therefore not per- 
fect; who is a man, and thus sensually inclined; who employs 
certain means to subdue his passions and to become a ' whited 
sepulchre,' but who gives way all the more to them when he im- 
agines that he can do so with impunity." Tartuffe, who ought 
to be bound to Orgon by the strongest ties of gratitude, allows 
the son to be turned out of the house by his father, because the 
latter will not believe the accusations brought against the hypo- 
crite — tries to seduce his benefactor's wife, to marry his daughter 
by a first marriage; and finally, after having obtained all his 
dupe's property, betrays him to the king as a criminal against the 
state. The denouement of the play is that Tartuffe himself is led 
to prison, and that vice is for the nonce punished on the stage as 
it deserves to be. 

Tartuffe made many enemies for Moliere, especially among 
the clergy, who were not afraid of being twitted with their too 
ready application to themselves of the moral of the play. It was 
prohibited in 1664; and some zealous clergymen even went so 
far as to write treatises which they hoped would counteract the 
effects of the dramatist's works. For their own sakes we may 
hope that they did not succeed. The King was not strong 
enough to withstand the influence of the clergy, and did not vent- 
ure at once to remove the interdict. The relaxation did not 
take place until five years later. But it was at this time that 
e., vol. xi. —23. 


Louis XIV bestowed on Moliere's company the name of " Com6- 
diens du Roi"; and the troop was subsidied by a yearly pension 
of seven thousand livres. 

Don Juan ou le Festin de Pierre, a piece in which a nobleman 
— who is a libertine as well as a sceptic and a hypocrite — is 
brought upon the stage, was first acted in February, 1665, and 
raised such an outcry that it was also forbidden to be played. In 
spite of failing health and serious depression of spirits, Moliere 
continued to produce play after play; and some of his best and 
most admired were the fruits of his most unhappy moments. 

Early in 1662 he had married Armande Bejart, the youngest 
sister of Madeleine Bejart, who was about twenty years younger 
than her husband. It was apparently a marriage of mutual 
affection, but it can hardly be said to have been a fortunate one 
for either. Armande loved admiration from whatever source, 
and indulged in pleasures which her husband could not share. 
The breach between them gradually widened, and it was not 
till 167 1 that their friends brought about a better understand- 
ing between them. Meanwhile, in September, 1665, appeared 
U Amour Medecin, a comedy in three acts, in which a lover ap- 
pears disguised as a physician, to cure the object of his love, pre- 
tends to be dumb, and in which Moliere makes his first serious 
attack against the doctors. 

It was acted only a few times when the theatre had to be closed 
on account of the author's illness; and the death of Anne of 
Austria, in the spring of 1666, delayed its reopening until June of 
that year. It was then that the Misanthrope was introduced to 
the public — a play which has been ranked as high in comedy as 
Athalie is ranked in French tragedy. The circumstances under 
which it was written were such as might almost warrant us in 
calling it a tragedy; for the great satirist, who had spent his life 
in copying the eccentricities of others, had now employed the 
season of his illness to commit to paper a drama in which he was 
himself the principal actor. The misanthrope Alceste loves the 
coquette Celimene, almost against his will; and we can imagine 
the feelings with which Moliere himself took the role of Alceste 
to his wife's Ce*limene. 

In 1669 the King, growing more independent of his advisers, 
sanctioned the production of Tartufje ; but this strengthening of 


his repertory did not prevent Moliere producing Monsieur de 
Pourceaudnac, a farcical comedy in three acts, in which there is 
a masterly and not exaggerated sketch of a consultation of doc- 
tors in Moliere's time; and, in 1670, the Bourgeois Gentilhomme, 
in which the folly of aping noblemen is delineated, as well as the 
Amants Magnifiques, a comedy-ballet for the particular behoof 
of the court. In 167 1 he combined with Corneille and Quinault 
in the production of Psyche, a tragedy-ballet, and wrote, or 
rather, perhaps, remodelled from among his earlier efforts, the 
Fourberies de Scapin and the Comtesse d'Escarbagnas. 

His two last works were among the highest and happiest crea- 
tions of his genius — the Femmes Savantes, a sort of sequel to the 
PrScieuses Ridicules, though of a more general application — and 
the Malade Imaginaire. In the latter, he insisted on playing the 
part of Argan upon the first representation, February 10, 1673; 
but it was the crowning act of his energetic mind. He became ill 
during the fourth representation of the play, and died that same 
evening, February 17th, exactly one year after Madeleine Bejart, 
with whom, seven-and-twenty years ago, he had set out from 
Paris with little more ambition than that of earning a livelihood 
by the pursuit of a congenial career. 

Moliere placed upon the stage nearly all human passions which 
lend themselves to comedy or farce. Sordid avarice, lavish prodi- 
gality, shameless vice, womanly resignation, artless coquetry, 
greed for money, downright hypocrisy, would-be gentility, self- 
sufficient vanity, fashionable swindling, misanthropy, heartless- 
ness, plain common-sense, knowledge of the world, coarse jeal- 
ousy, irresolution, impudence, pride of birth, egotism,* self-con- 
ceit, pusillanimity, ingenuity, roguery, affectations, homeliness, 
thoughtlessness, pedantry, arrogance, and many more faults and 
vices, find their representatives. The language which they em- 
ploy is always natural to them, and is neither too gross nor over- 
refined. His verse has none of the stiffness of the ordinary 
French rhyme, and becomes in his hands, as well as his prose, a 
delightful medium for sparkling sallies, bitter sarcasms, and 
well-sustained and sprightly conversations. 

And how remarkable and delicate is the nuance between his 
different characters, though they may represent the same profes- 
sion or an identical personage. None of his doctors are alike; 


his male and female scholars are all dissimilar. Mascarille is 
not Gros-Rene, Scapin is not Sbrigani, Don Juan is not Dorante, 
Alceste is not Philinte, Isabelle is not Agnes, Sganarelle is not 
always the same, Ariste is not Beralde nor Chrysalde ; while even 
his servants, Nicole, Dorine, Martine, Marotte, Toinette, Claud- 
ine, and Lisette ; his boobies, such as Alain and Lubin, and his 
intriguants in petticoats, such as Nerine, Lucette, Frosine, vary 
in character, expression, and conduct. They exemplify the say- 
ing, "Like master, like man." 

A remarkable characteristic of Moliere is that he does not ex- 
aggerate; his fools are never overwitty, his buffoons too grotesque, 
his men of wit too anxious to display their smartness, nor his fine 
gentlemen too fond of immodest and ribald talk. His satire is 
always kept within bounds, his repartees are never out of place, 
his plots are but seldom intricate, and the moral of his plays is 
not obtruded, but follows as a natural consequence of the whole. 
He rarely rises to those lofty realms of poetry where Shakespeare 
so often soars, for he wrote not idealistic, but character, comedies; 
which is, perhaps, the reason that some of his would-be admirers 
consider him rather commonplace. His claim to distinction is 
based only on strong common-sense, good manners, sound moral- 
ity, real wit, true humor, a great, facile, and accurate command 
of language, and a photographic delineation of nature. 

It cannot be denied that there is little action in his plays, but 
there is a great deal of natural conversation ; his personages show 
that he was a most attentive observer of men, even at court, where 
a certain varnish of overrefinement conceals nearly all individual 
features. He generally makes vice appear in its most ridiculous 
aspect, in order to let his audience laugh and despise it; his aim 
is to correct the follies of the age by exposing them to ridi- 



A.D. 1660 


Brief as was the duration of the Protectorate under Oliver Cromwell, 
it was one of the most extraordinary periods in English history. It is 
now commonly admitted that Cromwell was England's greatest ruler. 
After his first appearance in Charles' third parliament (1628), at the age 
of twenty -nine, Cromwell returned to the obscurity of his Huntingdon 
home. Not until he entered the Long Parliament (1640) did he really 
begin his marvellous career. 

However variously judged by his contemporaries and by later gen- 
erations, Cromwell's part in the world's affairs was of unquestioned mag- 
nitude. The very greatness of his career, the power and extent of his 
influence, and the combination of various elements in his character have 
made adequate judgment of him difficult, and general agreement concern- 
ing him wellnigh impossible. But that he was, at all events, " the most 
typical Englishman of his time " is now generally acknowledged. 

In the three views here presented, Cromwell's character and career 
and the Restoration are set forth from quite different points of view. 
Carlyle shows us in Cromwell one of his most admired heroes ; Green 
gives us the modern historian's dispassionate conclusions ; while the con- 
temporary narrative of the old diarist, Pepys, preserves the personal 
observations of a participator in the scenes which he describes. Charles 
II had spent years in exile on the Continent. He was finally proclaimed 
King of England at Westminster, May 8, 1660. Pepys describes his 
convoy from Holland to Dover, and his reception by the people who had 
invited him to return to his country and his throne. 


\A/E have had many civil- wars in England; wars of Red and 
White Roses, wars of Simon de Montfort; wars enough 
which are not very memorable. But that war of the Puritans 
has a significance which belongs to no one of the others. Trust- 
ing to your candor, which will suggest on the other side what I 
have not room to say, I will call it a section once more of that 
great universal war which alone makes- up the true History of the 
World, — the war of Belief against Unbelief ! 



The struggle of men intent on the real essence of things, 
against men intent on the semblances and forms of things. The 
Puritans, to many, seem mere savage Iconoclasts, fierce destroy- 
ers of Forms; but it were more just to call them haters of untrue 
Forms. I hope we know how to respect Laud and his King as 
well as them. Poor Laud seems to me to have been weak and 
ill-starred, not dishonest; an unfortunate Pedant rather than 
anything worse. His "Dreams" and superstitions, at which 
they laugh so, have an affectionate, lovable kind of character. 
He is like a College-Tutor, whose whole world is forms, College- 
rules; whose notion is that these are the life and safety of the 
world. He is placed suddenly, with that unalterable, luckless 
notion of his, at the head not of a College but of a Nation, to 
regulate the most complex, deep-reaching interests of men. He 
thinks they ought to go by the old decent regulations ; nay, that 
their salvation will lie in extending and improving these. Like a 
weak man, he drives with spasmodic vehemence toward his pur- 
pose , cramps himself to it, heeding no voice of prudence, no cry 
of pity: He will have his College- rules obeyed by his Collegians; 
that first; and till that, nothing. He is an ill-starred Pedant, as 
I said. He would have it the world was a College of that kind, 
and the world was not that. Alas! was not his doom stern 
enough ? Whatever wrongs he did, were they not all frightfully 
avenged on him ? 

It is meritorious to insist on forms; Religion and all else 
naturally clothes itself in forms. Everywhere the formed world 
is the only habitable one. The naked formlessness of Puritan- 
ism is not the thing I praise in the Puritans; it is the thing I pity 
— praising only the spirit which had rendered that inevitable! 
All substances clothe themselves in forms : but there are suitable 
true forms, and then there are untrue unsuitable. As the brief- 
est definition, one might say, Forms which grow round a sub- 
stance, if we rightly understand that, will correspond to the real 
nature and purport of it, will be true, good ; forms which are con- 
sciously put round a substance, bad. I invite you to reflect on 
this. It distinguishes true from false in Ceremonial Form, ear- 
nest solemnity from empty pageant, in all human things. 

There must be a veracity, a natural spontaneity in forms. 
In the commonest meeting of men, a person making what we 


call "set speeches," is not he an offence? In the mere drawing- 
room, whatsoever courtesies you see to be grimaces, prompted 
by no spontaneous reality within, are a thing you wish to get 
away from. But suppose now it were some matter of vital con- 
cernment, some transcendent matter (as Divine Worship is), 
about which your whole soul, struck dumb with its excess of 
feeling, knew not how to form itself into utterance at all, and pre- 
ferred formless silence to any utterance there possible — what 
should we say of a man coming forward to represent or utter it 
for you in the way of upholsterer-mummery? Such a man — 
let him depart swiftly, if he love himself! You have lost your 
only son ; are mute, struck down, without even tears : an impor- 
tunate man importunately offers to celebrate Funeral Games for 
him in the manner of the Greeks ! 

Such mummery is not only not to be accepted — it is hateful, 
unendurable. It is what the old Prophets called "Idolatry," 
worshipping of hollow shows; what all earnest men do and will 
reject. We can partly understand what these poor Puritans 
meant. Laud dedicating that St. Catherine Creed's Church in 
the manner we have it described, with his multiplied ceremonial 
bowings, gesticulations, exclamations: surely it is rather the 
rigorous formal Pedant, intent on his " College- rules," than the 
earnest Prophet, intent on the essence of the matter! 

Puritanism found such forms insupportable; trampled on 
such forms ; — we have to excuse it for saying, No form at all rather 
than such! It stood preaching in its bare pulpit, with nothing 
but the Bible in its hand. Nay, a man preaching from his ear- 
nest soul into the earnest souls of men : is not this virtually the 
essence of all Churches whatsoever? The nakedest, savagest 
reality, I say, is preferable to any semblance, however dignified. 
Besides, it will clothe itself with due semblance by and by, if it be 
real. No fear of that ; actually no fear at all. Given the living 
man, there will be found clothes for him; he will find himself 
clothes. But the suit-of-clothes pretending that it is both clothes 
and man — ! — We cannot "fight the French" by three- hundred- 
thousand red uniforms ; there must be men in the inside of them ! 
Semblance, I assert, must actually not divorce itself from Reality. 
If Semblance do — why, then there must be men found to rebel 
against Semblance, for it has become a lie! These two An- 


tagonisms at war here, in the case of Laud and the Puritans, are 
as old nearly as the world. They went to fierce battle over Eng- 
land in that age ; and f ought-out their confused controversy to a 
certain length, with many results for all of us. 

In the age which directly followed that of the Puritans, their 
cause or themselves were little likely to have justice done them. 
Charles Second and his Rochesters were not the kind of men you 
would set to judge what the worth or meaning of such men might 
have been. That there could be any faith or truth in the life of 
a man, was what these poor Rochesters, and the age they ushered- 
in, had forgotten. Puritanism was hung on gibbets — like the 
bones of the leading Puritans. Its work nevertheless went on 
accomplishing itself. All true work of a man, hang the author 
of it on what gibbet you like, must and will accomplish itself. 
We have our Habeas-Corpus, our free Representation of the 
People; acknowledgment, wide as the world, that all men are, 
or else must, shall, and will become, what we call free men ; — men 
with their life grounded on reality and justice, not on tradition, 
which has become unjust and a chimera! This in part, and 
much besides this, was the work of the Puritans. 

And indeed, as these things became gradually manifest, the 
character of the Puritans began to clear itself. Their memories 
were, one after another, taken down from the gibbet ; nay a cer- 
tain portion of them are now, in these days, as good as canonized. 
Eliot, Hampden, Pym, nay Ludlow, Hutchinson, Vane himself, 
are admitted to be a kind of Heroes ; political Conscript Fathers, 
to whom in no small degree we owe what makes us a free Eng- 
land : it would not be safe for anybody to designate these men as 
wicked now. Few Puritans of note but find their apologists 
somewhere, and have a certain reverence paid them by earnest 
men. One Puritan, I think, and almost he alone, our poor 
Cromwell, seems to hang yet on the gibbet, and find no hearty 
apologist anywhere. Him neither saint nor sinner will acquit 
of great wickedness. A man of ability, infinite talent, courage, 
and so forth; but he betrayed the Cause. Selfish ambition, dis- 
honesty, duplicity; a fierce, coarse, hypocritical Tartujje; turn- 
ing all that noble Struggle for constitutional Liberty into a sorry 
farce played for his own benefit : this and worse is the character 
they give of Cromwell. And then there come contrasts with 


Washington and others; above all, with these noble Pyms and 
Hampdens, whose noble work he stole for himself, and ruined 
into a futility and deformity. 

From of old, I will confess, this theory of Cromwell's falsity 
has been incredible to me. Nay I cannot believe the like, of any 
Great Man whatever. Multitudes of Great Men figure in His- 
tory as false selfish men ; but if we will consider it, they are but 
figures for us, unintelligible shadows ; we do not see into them as 
men that could have existed at all. A superficial, unbelieving 
generation only, with no eye but for the surfaces and semblances 
of things, could form such notions of Great Men. Can a great 
soul be possible without a conscience in it, the essence of all real 
souls, great or small? No, we cannot figure Cromwell as a 
Falsity and Fatuity ; the longer I study him and his career, I be- 
lieve this the less. Why should we ? There is no evidence of it. 
Is it not strange that, after all the mountains of calumny this man 
has been subject to, after being represented as the very prince of 
liars, who never, or hardly ever, spoke truth, but always some 
cunning counterfeit of truth, there should not yet have been one 
falsehood brought clearly home to him ? A prince of liars, and 
no lie spoken by him. Not one that I could yet get sight of. It 
is like Pococke asking Grotius, Where is your proof of Mahomet's 
Pigeon ? No proof ! — Let us leave all these calumnious chimeras, 
as chimeras ought to be left. They are not portraits of the man ; 
they are distracted phantasms of him, the joint product of hatred 
and darkness. 

Looking at the man's life with our own eyes, it seems to me, a 
very different hypothesis suggests itself. What little we know of 
his earlier obscure years, distorted as it has come down to us, does 
it not all betoken an earnest, affectionate, sincere kind of man ? 
His nervous melancholic temperament indicates rather a serious- 
ness too deep for him. Of those stories of "Spectres;" of the 
white Spectre in broad daylight, predicting that he should be 
King of England, we are not bound to believe much — probably 
no more than of the other black Spectre, or Devil in person, to 
whom the Officer saw him sell himself before Worcester Fight! 

But the mournful, over-sensitive, hypochondriac humor of 
Oliver, in his young years, is otherwise indisputably known. The 
Huntingdon Physician told Sir Philip Warwick himself, He had 


often been sent for at midnight ; Mr. Cromwell was full of hypo- 
chondria, thought himself near dying, and "had fancies about the 
Town-cross." These things are significant. Such an excitable, 
deep-feeling nature, in that rugged stubborn strength of his, is 
not the symptom of falsehood ; it is the symptom and promise of 
quite other than falsehood! 

The young Oliver is sent to study Law; falls, or is said to 
have fallen, for a little period, into some of the dissipations of 
youth; but if so, speedily repents, abandons all this: not much 
above twenty, he is married, settled as an altogether grave and 
quiet man. "He pays-back what money he had won at gam- 
bling, " says the story; — he does not think any gain of that kind 
could be really his. It is very interesting, very natural, this 
"conversion," as they well name it; this awakening of a great 
true soul from the worldly slough, to see into the awful truth of 
things ; — to see that Time and its shows all rested on Eternity, and 
this poor Earth of ours was the threshold either of Heaven or of 
Hell! Oliver's life at St. Ives and Ely, as a sober industrious 
Farmer, is it not altogether as that of a true and devout man ? He 
has renounced the world and its ways : its prizes are not the thing 
that can enrich him. He tills the earth; he reads his Bible; 
daily assembles his servants round him to worship God. He 
comforts persecuted ministers, is fond of preachers; nay, can 
himself preach, — exhorts his neighbors to be wise, to redeem 
the time. In all this what "hypocrisy," "ambition," "cant," or 
other falsity ? The man's hopes, I do believe, were fixed on the 
other Higher World; his aim to get well thither by walking 
well through his humble course in this world. He courts no 
notice: what could notice here do for him? "Ever in his great 
Taskmaster's eye." 

It is striking, too, how he comes-out into public view; he, 
since no other is willing to come : in resistance to a public griev- 
ance. I mean, in that matter of the Bedford Fens. No one else 
will go to law with Authority; therefore he will. That matter 
once settled, he returns back into obscurity, to his Bible and his 
Plough. "Gain influence?" His influence is the most legiti- 
mate; derived from personal knowledge of him, as a just, relig- 
ious, reasonable, and determined man. In this way he has 
lived till past forty ; old age is now in view of him, and the earnest 


portal of Death and Eternity; it was at this point that he sud- 
denly became " ambitious " ! I do not interpret his Parliamentary 
mission in that way ! 

His successes in Parliament, his successes through the war, 
are honest successes of a brave man ; who has more resolution in 
the heart of him, more light in the head of him, than other men. 
His prayers to God; his spoken thanks to the God of Victory, 
who had preserved him safe, and carried him forward so far, 
through the furious clash of a world all set in conflict, through 
desperate-looking envelopments at Dunbar; through the death- 
hail of so many battles; mercy after mercy; to the "crowning 
mercy" of Worcester fight: all this is good and genuine for a 
deep-hearted Calvinistic Cromwell. Only to vain unbelieving 
Cavaliers, worshipping not God but their own "lovelocks," fri- 
volities, and formalities, living quite apart from contemplations of 
God, living without God in the world, need it seem hypocritical. 

Nor will his participation in the King's death involve him in 
condemnation with us. It is a stern business killing of a King! 
But if you once go to war with him, it lies there; this and all else 
lie there. Once at war, you have made wager of battle with 
him: it is he to die, or else you. Reconciliation is problematic; 
may be possible, or, far more likely, is impossible. 

It is now pretty generally admitted that the Parliament, hav- 
ing vanquished Charles First, had no way of making any tenable 
arrangement with him. The large Presbyterian party, appre- 
hensive now of the Independents, were most anxious to do so; 
anxious indeed as for their own existence; but it could not be. 
The unhappy Charles, in those final Hampton- Court negotiations, 
shows himself as a man fatally incapable of being dealt with. 
A man who, once for all, could not and would not understand : — 
whose thought did not in any measure represent to him the real 
fact of the matter; nay worse, whose word did not at all represent 
his thought. We may say this of him without cruelty, with deep 
pity rather : but it is true and undeniable. Forsaken there of all 
but the name of Kingship, he still, finding himself treated with out- 
ward respect as a King, fancied that he might play-off party against 
party, and smuggle himself into his old power by deceiving both. 
Alas, they both discovered that he was deceiving them. A man 
whose word will not inform you at all what he means or will do, 


is not a man you can bargain with. You must get out of that 
man's way, or put him out of yours! The Presbyterians, in 
their despair, were still for believing Charles, though found 
false, unbelievable again and again. Not so Cromwell: "For 
all our fighting," says he, "we are to have a little bit of paper?" 

In fact, everywhere we have to note the decisive practical eye 
of this man; how he drives toward the practical and practicable; 
has a genuine insight into what is fact. Such an intellect, I 
maintain, does not belong to a false man : the false man sees false 
shows, plausibilities, expediences : the true man is needed to dis- 
cern even practical truth. Cromwell's advice about the Parlia- 
ment's Army, early in the contest, How they were to dismiss their 
city-tapsters, flimsy riotous persons, and choose substantial yeo- 
men, whose heart was in the work, to be soldiers for them : this 
is advice by a man who saw. Fact answers, if you see into Fact! 
Cromwell's Ironsides were the embodiment of this insight of his; 
men fearing God; and without any other fear. No more con- 
clusively genuine set of fighters ever trod the soil of England, or 
of any other land. 

Neither will we blame greatly that word of Cromwell's to 
them; which was so blamed: "If the King should meet me in 
battle, I would kill the King." Why not? These words were 
spoken to men who stood as before a Higher than Kings. They 
had set more than their own lives on the cast. The Parlia- 
ment may call it, in official language, a fighting " jor the King;" 
but we, for our share, cannot understand that. To us it is no 
dilettante work, no sleek officiality; it is sheer rough death and 
earnest. They have brought it to the calling forth of War; 
horrid internecine fight, man grappling with man in fire-eyed 
rage — the injemal element in man called forth, to try it by that ! 
Do that therefore ; since that is the thing to be done. — The suc- 
cesses of Cromwell seem to me a very natural thing! Since he 
was not shot in battle, they were an inevitable thing. That such 
a man, with the eye to see, with the heart to dare, should advance, 
from post to post, from victory to victory, till the Huntingdon 
farmer became, by whatever name you might call him, the ac- 
knowledged Strongest Man in England, virtually the King of 
England, requires no magic to explain it ! — 


Precisely here, however, lies the rub for Cromwell. His other 
proceedings have all found advocates, and stand generally jus- 
tified ; but this dismissal of the Rump Parliament and assump- 
tion of the Protectorship, is what no one can pardon him. He 
had fairly grown to be King in England ; Chief Man of the vic- 
torious party in England: but it seems he could not do without 
the King's Cloak, and sold himself to perdition in order to get it. 
Let us see a little how this was. 

England, Scotland, Ireland, all lying now subdued at the feet 
of the Puritan Parliament, the practical question arose, What was 
to be done with it ? How will you govern these Nations, which 
Providence in a wondrous way has given-up to your disposal? 
Clearly those hundred surviving members of the Long Parlia- 
ment, who sit there as supreme authority, cannot continue for- 
ever to sit. What is to be done ? — It was a question which theo- 
retical constitution-builders may find easy to answer; but to 
Cromwell, looking there into the real practical facts of it, there 
could be none more complicated. He asked of the Parliament, 
What it was they would decide upon ? It was for the Parliament 
to say. Yet the Soldiers too, however contrary to Formula, they 
who had purchased this victory with their blood, it seemed to 
them that they also should have something to say in it ! We will 
not "For all our fighting have nothing but a little piece of pa- 
per." We understand that the Law of God's Gospel, to which He 
through us has given the victory, shall establish itself, or try to 
establish itself, in this land! 

For three years, Cromwell says, this question had been 
sounded in the ears of the Parliament. They could make no an- 
swer; nothing but talk, talk. Perhaps it lies in the nature of parlia- 
mentary bodies; perhaps no Parliament could in such case make 
any answer but even that of talk, talk ! Nevertheless the ques- 
tion must and shall be answered. You sixty men there, becom- 
ing fast odious, even despicable, to the whole nation, whom the 
nation already calls "Rump" Parliament, you cannot continue 
to sit there ; who or what, then, is to follow ? " Free Parliament," 
right of election, constitutional formulas of one sort or the other 
— the thing is a hungry fact coming on us, which we must an- 
swer or be devoured by it ! And who are you that prate of con- 
stitutional formulas, rights of Parliament? You have had to 


kill your king, to make pride's purges, to expel and banish by 
the law of the stronger whosoever would not let your cause pros- 
per : there are but fifty or threescore of you left there, debating in 
these days. Tell us what we shall do; not in the way of for- 
mula, but of practicable fact ! 

How they did finally answer, remains obscure to this day. 
The diligent Godwin himself admits that he cannot make it out. 
The likeliest is, that this poor Parliament still would not, and 
indeed could not, dissolve and disperse; that when it came to the 
point of actually dispersing, they again, for the tenth or twentieth 
time, adjourned it — and Cromwell's patience failed him. But 
we will take the favorablest hypothesis ever started for the Parlia- 
ment ; the favorablest, though I believe it is not the true one, but 
too favorable. 

According to this version: At the uttermost crisis, when 
Cromwell and his officers were met on the one hand, and the fifty 
or sixty Rump Members on the other, it was suddenly told Crom- 
well that the Rump in its despair was answering in a very sin- 
gular way ; that in their splenetic, envious despair, to keep-out the 
Army at least, these men were hurrying through the House a 
kind of Reform Bill — Parliament to be chosen by the whole of 
England; equable electoral division into districts; free suffrage, 
and the rest of it! A very questionable, or indeed for them an 
unquestionable, thing. Reform Bill, free suffrage of English- 
men ? Why, the Royalists, themselves, silenced indeed but not 
exterminated, perhaps outnumber us; the great numerical ma- 
jority of England was always indifferent to our cause, merely 
looked at it and submitted to it. It is in weight and force, not by 
counting of heads, that we are the majority! And now with your 
Formulas and Reform Bills, the whole matter sorely won by our 
swords, shall again launch itself to sea ; become a mere hope, and 
likelihood, small even as a likelihood ? And it is not a likelihood ; 
it is a certainty, which we have won, by God's strength and our 
own right hands, and do now hold here. Cromwell walked 
down to these refractory Members; interrupted them in that 
rapid speed of their Reform Bill ; — ordered them to begone, and 
talk there no more. — Can we not forgive him ? Can we not un- 
derstand him? John Milton, who looked on it all near at hand, 
could applaud him. The Reality had swept the Formulas away 


before it. I fancy, most men who were realities in England 
might see into the necessity of that. 

The strong daring man, therefore, has set all manner of For- 
mulas and logical superficialities against him ; has dared appeal 
to the genuine Fact of this England, Whether it will support him 
or not ? It is curious to see how he struggles to govern in some 
constitutional way; find some Parliament to support him; but 
cannot. His first Parliament, the one they call "Barebones' 
Parliament," is, so to speak, a Convocation 0} the Notables. 
From all quarters of England the leading Ministers and chief 
Puritan Officials nominate the men most distinguished by re- 
ligious reputation, influence, and attachment to the true cause: 
these are assembled to shape-out a plan. They sanctioned what 
was past; shaped as they could what was to come. They were 
scornfully called Barebones 1 Parliament, the man's name, it 
seems, was not Barebones, but Barbone — a good enough man. 
Nor was it a jest, their work; it was a most serious reality — a 
trial on the part of these Puritan Notables how far the Law of 
Christ could become the Law of this England. There were men 
of sense among them, men of some quality; men of deep piety 
I suppose the most of them were. They failed, it seems, and 
broke-down, endeavoring to reform the Court of Chancery! 
They dissolved themselves, as incompetent; delivered-up their 
power again into the hands of the Lord- General Cromwell, to 
do with it what he liked and could. 

What will he do with it? The Lord- General Cromwell, 
" Commander-in-chief of all the Forces raised and to be raised" ; 
he hereby sees himself, at this unexampled juncture, as it were 
the one available Authority left in England, nothing between 
England and utter Anarchy but him alone. Such is the un- 
deniable Fact of his position and England's, there and then. 
What will he do with it ? After deliberation, he decides that he 
will accept it; will formally, with public solemnity, say and vow 
before God and men, " Yes, the Fact is so, and I will do the best 
I can with it ! " Protectorship, Instrument 0} Government; — these 
are the external forms of the thing; worked out and sanctioned 
as they could in the circumstances be, by the Judges, by the lead- 
ing Official people, " Council of Officers and persons of interest 
in the Nation" : and as for the thing itself, undeniably enough, at 


the pass matters had now come to, there was no alternative but 
Anarchy or that. Puritan England might accept it or not; but 
Puritan England was, in real truth, saved from suicide thereby! 
— I believe the Puritan People did, in an inarticulate, grumbling, 
yet on the whole grateful and real way, accept this anomalous 
act of Oliver's; at least, he and they together made it good, and 
always better to the last. But in their Parliamentary articulate 
way, they had their difficulties, and never knew fully what to say 
to it! — 

Oliver's second Parliament, properly his first regular Parlia- 
ment, chosen by the rule laid- down in the Instrument oj Govern- 
ment, did assemble, and worked ; — but got, before long, into bot- 
tomless questions as to the Protector's right, as to " usurpation," 
and so forth; and had at the earliest legal day to be dismissed. 
Cromwell's concluding Speech to these men is a remarkable 
one. So likewise to his third Parliament, in similar rebuke for 
their pedantries and obstinacies. Most rude, chaotic, all these 
Speeches are; but most earnest- looking. You would say, it was 
a sincere, helpless man; not used to speak the great inorganic 
thought of him, but to act it rather! A helplessness of utterance, 
in such bursting fulness of meaning. He talks much about 
" births of Providence " : All these changes, so many victories and 
events, were not forethoughts, and theatrical contrivances of 
men, of me or of men ; it is blind blasphemers that will persist in 
calling them so ! He insists with a heavy sulphurous, wrathful 
emphasis on this. As he well might. As if a Cromwell in that 
dark, huge game he had been playing, the world wholly thrown 
into chaos round him, had joreseen it all, and played it ctll off 
like a precontrived puppet-show by wood and wire! These 
things were foreseen by no man, he says ; no man could tell what 
a day would bring forth: they were " births of Providence." 
God's finger guided us on, and we came at last to clear height of 
victory, God's Cause triumphant in these Nations; and you as a 
Parliament could assemble together, and say in what manner 
all this could be organized, reduced into rational feasibility among 
the affairs of men. You were to help with your wise counsel in 
doing that. "You have had such an opportunity as no Parlia- 
ment in England ever had." 

" Christ's Law, the Right and True, was to be in some meas- 


ure made the Law of this land. In place of that, you have got 
into your idle pedantries, constitutionalities, bottomless cavil- 
lings and questionings about written laws for my coming here; — 
and would send the whole matter in Chaos again, because I^have 
no Notary's parchment, but only God's voice from the battle- 
whirlwind, for being President among you! That opportunity 
is gone; and we know not when it will return. You have had 
your constitutional Logic; and Mammon's Law, not Christ's 
I aw, rules yet in this land. " God be judge between you and 
me!" These are his final words to them: Take you your con- 
stitution-formulas in your hand; and I my informal struggles, 
purposes, realities, and acts; and "God be judge between you 
and me!" 

We said above what shapeless, involved chaotic things the 
printed Speeches of Cromwell are. Wilfully ambiguous, unin- 
telligible, say the most: a hypocrite shrouding himself in con- 
fused Jesuitic jargon! To me they do not seem so. I will say, 
rather, they afforded the first glimpses I could ever get into the 
reality of this Cromwell, nay into the possibility of him. Try to 
believe that he means something, search lovingly what that may 
be : you will find a real speech lying imprisoned in these broken, 
rude tortuous utterances ; a meaning in the great heart of this in- 
articulate man ! You will, for the first time, begin to see that he 
was a man ; not an enigmatic chimera, unintelligible to you, in- 
credible to you. The Histories and Biographies written of this 
Cromwell, written in shallow, sceptical generations that could not 
know or conceive of a deep, believing man, are far more obscure 
than Cromwell's Speeches. You look through them only into 
the infinite vague of Black and the Inane. "Heats and jealous- 
ies," says Lord Clarendon himself: "heats and jealousies," 
mere crabbed whims, theories, and crotchets; these induced 
slow, sober, quiet Englishmen to lay down their ploughs and work; 
and fly into red fury of confused war against the best-conditioned 
of Kings! Try if you can find that true. Scepticism writing 
about Belief may have great gifts; but it is really ultra vires 
there. It is Blindness laying-down the Laws of Optics. — 

Cromwell's third Parliament split on the same rock as his 
second. Ever the constitutional Formula : How came you there ? 
Show us some Notary parchment! Blind pedants: — "Why, 

E., VOL. XL— 24. 


surely the same power which makes you a Parliament, that, 
and something more, made me a Protector!" If my Pro- 
tectorship is nothing, what in the name of wonder is your Par- 
liamenteership, a reflex and creation of that ?— 

Parliaments having failed, there remained nothing but the 
way of Despotism. Military Dictators, each with his district to 
coerce the Royalist and other gainsayers, to govern them, if not 
by act of Parliament, then by the sword. Formula shall not 
carry it, while the Realty is here! I will go on protecting op- 
pressed Protestants abroad, appointing just judges, wise man- 
agers, at home, cherishing true Gospel ministers ; doing the best 
I can to make England a Christian England, greater than old 
Rome, the Queen of Protestant Christianity; I, since you will not 
help me ; I while God leaves me life ! — Why did he not give it up ; 
retire into obscurity again, since the Law would not acknowledge 
him ? cry several. That is where they mistake. For him there 
was no giving of it up! Prime Ministers have governed coun- 
tries, Pitt, Bombal, Choiseul; and their word was a law while it 
held : but this Prime Minister was one that could not get resigned. 
Let him once resign, Charles Stuart and the Cavaliers waited to 
kill him; to kill the Cause and him. Once embarked, there is no 
retreat, no return. This Prime Minister could retire no- whither 
except into his tomb. 

One is sorry for Cromwell in his old days. His complaint is 
incessant of the heavy burden Providence has laid on him. 
Heavy; which he must bear till death. Old Colonel Hutchin- 
son, as his wife relates it, Hutchinson, his old battle-mate, 
coming to see him on some indispensable business, much 
against his will — Cromwell "follows him to the door," in a most 
fraternal, domestic, conciliatory style; begs that he would be 
reconciled to him, his old brother- in-arms; says how much it 
grieves him to be misunderstood, deserted by true fellow-soldiers, 
dear to him from of old: the rigorous Hutchinson, cased in 
his Republican formula, sullenly goes his way. — And the man's 
head now white; his strong arm growing weary with its long 
work ! I think always, too, of his poor Mother, now very old, liv- 
ing in that Palace of his; a right brave woman; as indeed they 
lived all an honest God-fearing Household there : if she heard a 
shot go-off, she thought it was her son killed. He had come to her 


at least once a day, that she might see with her own eyes that he 
was yet living. The poor old mother! — What had this man 
gained ; what had he gained ? He had a life of sore strife and 
toil to his last day. Fame, ambition, place in History? His 
dead body was hung in chains; his " place in History" — place in 
History, forsooth! — has been a place of ignominy, accusation, 
blackness, and disgrace ; and here, this day, who knows if it is not 
rash in me to be among the first that ever ventured to pronounce 
him not a knave and liar, but a genuinely honest man ! Peace to 
him. Did he not, in spite of all, accomplish much for us ? We 
walk smoothly over his great rough heroic life ; step-over his body 
sunk in the ditch there. We need not spurn it, as we step on it ! 
— Let the Hero rest. It was not to men's judgment that he ap- 
pealed: nor have men judged him very well. 


Cromwell saw that Puritanism had missed its aim. He saw 
that the attempt to secure spiritual results by material force had 
failed, as it always fails. It had broken down before the in- 
difference and resentment of the great mass of the people, of men 
who were neither lawless nor enthusiasts, but who clung to the 
older traditions of social order, and whose humor and good- sense 
revolted alike from the artificial conception of human life which 
Puritanism had formed, and from its effort to force such a con- 
ception on a people by law. It broke down, too, before the cor- 
ruption of the Puritans themselves. It was impossible to dis- 
tinguish between the saint and the hypocrite as soon as godliness 
became profitable. Ashley Cooper, a sceptic in religion and a 
profligate in morals, was among "the loudest bagpipes of the 
squeaking train." Even among the really earnest Puritans pros- 
perity disclosed a pride, a worldliness, a selfish hardness which 
had been hidden in the hour of persecution. What was yet more 
significant was the irreligious and sceptical temper of the younger 
generation which had grown up amid the storms of the civil war. 
The children even of the leading Puritans stood aloof from Puri- 
tanism. The eldest of Cromwell's sons made small pretensions 
to religion. Milton's nephews, though reared in his house, were 
writing satires against Puritan hypocrisy and contributing to 
collections of filthy songs. The two daughters of the great 


preacher, Stephen Marshall, were to figure as actresses on the 
infamous stage of the Restoration. The tone of the Protector's 
later speeches shows his consciousness that the ground was slip- 
ping from under his feet. He no longer dwells on the dream of 
a Puritan England, of a nation rising as a whole into a people of 
God. He falls back on the phrases of his youth, and the saints 
become again a " peculiar people," a remnant, a fragment among 
the nation at large. 

But with the consciousness of failure in realizing his ideal of 
government the charm of government was gone ; and now to the 
weariness of power was added the weakness and feverish im- 
patience of disease. Vigorous and energetic as Cromwell's life 
had seemed, his health was by no mean as strong as his will ; he 
had been struck down by intermittent fever in the midst of his 
triumphs both in Scotland and in Ireland, and during the past 
year he had suffered from repeated attacks of it. "I have some 
infirmities upon me," he owned twice over in his speech at the 
reopening of the Parliament in January, 1658, after an adjourn- 
ment of six months; and his feverish irritability was quickened 
by the public danger. No supplies had been voted, and the pay 
of the army was heavily in arrear, while its temper grew more 
and more sullen at the appearance of the new constitution and 
the reawakening of the royalist intrigues. 

Cromwell had believed that his military successes would se- 
cure compliance with his demands; but the temper of the Com- 
mons was even more irritable than his own. Under the terms of 
the new constitution the members excluded in the preceding year 
took their places again in the House ; and it was soon clear that 
the Parliament reflected the general mood of the nation. The 
tone of the Commons became captious and quarrelsome. They 
still delayed the grant for supplies. Meanwhile, a hasty act of 
the Protector in giving to his nominees in "the other House," as 
the new second chamber he had devised was called, the title of 
" Lords," kindled a strife between the two Houses which was 
busily fanned by Haselrig and other opponents of the govern- 
ment. It was contended that the "other House" had under the 
new constitution simply judicial, and not legislative, powers. 
Such a contention struck at once at Cromwell's work of restoring 
the old political forms of English life: and the reappearance of 


parliamentary strife threw him at last, says an observer at his 
court, "into a rage and passion like unto madness." 

What gave weight to it was the growing strength of the Royal- 
ist party, and its hopes of a coming rising. Such a rising had in 
fact been carefully prepared; and Charles, with a large body of 
Spanish troop?, drew to the coast of Flanders to take advantage 
of it. His hopes were above all encouraged by the strife in the 
Commons, and their manifest dislike of the system of the Pro- 
tectorate. It was this that drove Cromwell to action. Sum- 
moning his coach, by a sudden impulse, the Protector drove on, 
February 4th, with a few guards to Westminster; and, setting 
aside the remonstrance of Fleetwood, summoned the two Houses 
to his presence. "I do dissolve this Parliament," he ended a 
speech of angry rebuke, "and let God be judge between you and 

Fatal as was the error, for the moment all went well. The 
army was reconciled by the blow levelled at its opponents, and a 
few murmurers who appeared in its ranks were weeded out by 
a careful remodelling. The triumphant officers avowed to stand 
or fall with his highness. The danger of a Royalist rising van- 
ished before a host of addresses from the counties. Great news, 
too, came from abroad, where victory in Flanders, and the cession 
of Dunkirk in June, set the seal on Cromwell's glory. But the 
fever crept steadily on, and his looks told the tale of death to the 
Quaker, Fox, who met him riding in Hampton Court Park. 

"Before I came to him," he says, "as he rode at the head of 
his lifeguards, I saw and felt a waft of death go forth against 
him, and when I came to him he looked like a dead man." In 
the midst of his triumph Cromwell's heart was heavy in fact with 
the sense of failure. He had no desire to play the tyrant; nor 
had he any belief in the permanence of a mere tyranny. He 
clung desperately to the hope of bringing over the country to his 
side. He had hardly dissolved the Parliament before he was 
planning the summons of another, and angry at the opposition 
which his council offered to the project. "I will take my own 
resolutions," he said gloomily to his household ; "I can no longer 
satisfy myself to sit still, and make myself guilty of the loss of all 
the honest party and of the nation itself." But before his plans 
could be realized the overtaxed strength of the Protector sud- 


denly gave way. Early in August, 1658, his sickness took a more 
serious form. He saw too clearly the chaos into which his death 
would plunge England to be willing to die. "Do not think I 
shall die," he burst out with feverish energy to the physicians who 
gathered round him; " say not I have lost my reason! I tell you 
the truth. I know it from better authority than any you can 
have from Galen or Hippocrates. It is the answer of God him- 
self to our prayers!" 

Prayer indeed rose from every side for his recovery, but death 
grew steadily nearer, till even Cromwell felt that his hour was 
come. "I would be willing to live," the dying man murmured, 
"to be further serviceable to God and his people, but my work 
is done! Yet God will be with his people!" A storm which 
tore roofs from houses, and levelled huge trees in every forest, 
seemed a fitting prelude to the passing away of his mighty 
spirit. Three days later, on September 3d, the day which had wit- 
nessed his victories of Worcester and Dunbar, Cromwell quietly 
breathed his last. 

So absolute even in death was his sway over the minds of 
men, that, to the wonder of the excited Royalists, even a doubtful 
nomination on his death-bed was enough to secure the peaceful 
succession of his son, Richard Cromwell. Many in fact who 
had rejected the authority of his father submitted peaceably to 
the new Protector. Their motives were explained by Baxter, the 
most eminent among the Presbyterian ministers, in an address 
to Richard which announced his adhesion. "I observe," he 
says, "that the nation generally rejoice in your peaceable en- 
trance upon the government. Many are persuaded that you 
have been strangely kept from participating in any of our 
late bloody contentions, that God might make you the healer of 
our breaches, and employ you in that Temple work which David 
himself might not be honored with, though it was in his mind, 
because he shed blood abundantly and made great wars." 

The new Protector was a weak and worthless man; but the 
bulk 6i the nation were content to be ruled by one who was at 
any rate no soldier, no Puritan, and no innovator. Richard was 
known to be lax and worldly in his conduct, and he was believed 
to be conservative and even Royalist in heart. The tide of re- 
action was felt even in his council. Their first act was to throw 


aside one of the greatest of Cromwell's reforms and to fall back 
in the summons which they issued for a new Parliament on the 
old system of election. It was felt far more keenly in the tone 
of the new House of Commons when it met in January, 1659. 
The republicans under Vane, backed adroitly by the members 
who were secretly Royalists, fell hotly on Cromwell's system. 
The fiercest attack of all came from Sir Ashley Cooper, a Dorset- 
shire gentleman who had changed sides in the civil war, had 
fought for the King and then for the Parliament, had been a 
member of Cromwell's council, and had of late ceased to be a 
member of it. His virulent invective on "his highness of de- 
plorable memory, who with fraud and force deprived you of your 
liberty when living and entailed slavery on you at his death," was 
followed by an equally virulent invective against the army. 
"They have not only subdued their enemies," said Cooper, "but 
the masters who raised and maintained them! They have not 
only conquered Scotland and Ireland, but rebellious England 
too ; and there suppressed a malignant party of magistrates and 

The army was quick with its reply. Already in the preceding 
November it had shown its suspicion of the new government by 
demanding the appointment of a soldier as general in the place 
of the new Protector, who had assumed the command. The 
tone of the council of officers now became so menacing that the 
Commons ordered the dismissal of all officers who refused to 
engage "not to disturb or interrupt the free meetings of Parlia- 
ment." Richard ordered the council of officers to dissolve. 
Their reply was a demand for the dissolution of the Parliament ; 
and with this demand, on April 2 2d, Richard was forced to com- 
ply. The purpose of the army, however, was still to secure a 
settled government; and setting aside the new Protector, whose 
weakness was now evident, they resolved to come to a reconcili- 
ation with the republican party, and to recall the fragment of the 
Commons whom they had expelled from St. Stephen's in 1653. 

The arrangement was quickly brought about; and in May, 
of the one hundred sixty members who had continued to sit after 
the King's death, about ninety returned to their seats and re- 
sumed the administration of affairs. The continued exclusion 
of the members who had been "purged" from the House in 1648, 


proved that no real intention existed of restoring a legal rule; and 
the soldiers trusted that the "Rump" which they had restored to 
power would be bound to them by the growing danger both to 
republicanism and to religious liberty. But not even their pas- 
sion for these "causes" could make men endure the rule of the 
sword. The House was soon at strife with the soldiers. 

In spite of Vane's counsels, it proposed a reform of the officers 
and though a Royalist rising in Cheshire during August threw the 
disputants for a moment together, the struggle revived as the dan- 
ger passed away. A new hope indeed filled men's minds. Not only 
was the nation sick of military rule, but the army, unconquerable 
so long as it held together, at last showed signs of division. In 
Ireland and Scotland the troops protested against the attitude of 
their English comrades; and Monk, the commander of the Scot- 
tish army, threatened to march on London and free the Parlia- 
ment from their pressure. The knowledge of these divisions 
encouraged Haselrig and his coadjutors in the Commons to de- 
mand the dismissal of Fleetwood and Lambert from their com- 
mands. They answered in October by driving the Parliament 
again from Westminster, and by marching under Lambert to the 
north to meet the army under Monk. 

Lambert, however, suffered himself to be lured into inaction 
by negotiations, while Monk gathered a convention at Edin- 
burgh, and strengthened himself with money and recruits. His 
attitude was enough to rouse England to action. Portsmouth 
closed its gates against the delegates of the soldiers. The fleet 
declared against them. So rapidly did the tide of feeling rise 
throughout the country that the army at the close of December 
was driven to undo the work by recalling the Rump. But the 
concession only aided the force of resistance by showing the weak- 
ness of the tyranny which England was resolute to throw off. 
Lambert's men fell from him, and finding his path clear, Monk, 
without revealing his purport, advanced rapidly to Coldstream, 
and crossed the border in the first days of 1660. His action 
broke the spell of terror which had weighed upon the country. 
The cry of "A free Parliament" ran like fire through the coun- 
try. Not only Fairfax, who appeared in arms in Yorkshire, but 
the ships on the Thames and the mobs which thronged the streets 
of London, caught up the cry. 


Still steadily advancing, but lavishing protestations of loyalty 
to the Rump, while he accepted petitions for a "Free Parlia- 
ment," Monk on February 3d entered London unopposed. 
From the moment of his entry the restoration of the Stuarts be- 
came inevitable. The army, resolute as it still remained for the 
maintenance of "the cause," was deceived by Monk's declara- 
tions of loyalty to it, and rendered powerless by his adroit dis- 
persion of the troops over the country. At the instigation of 
Ashley Cooper, those who remained of the members who had 
been excluded from the House of Commons in 1648 again forced 
their way into Parliament, and at once resolved on a dissolution 
and the election of a new House of Commons. 

The dissolution in March was followed by a last struggle of 
the army for its old supremacy. Lambert escaped from the 
Tower and called his fellow- soldiers to arms; but he was hotly 
pursued, overtaken, and routed near Daventry; and on April 
25th the new House, which bears the name of the " Convention," 
assembled at Westminster. It had hardly taken the solemn 
"league and covenant" which showed its Presbyterian temper, 
and its leaders had only begun to draw up terms on which the 
King's restoration might be assented to, when they found that 
Monk was in negotiation with the exiled court. 

All exaction of terms was now impossible ; a declaration from 
Breda, in which Charles promised a general pardon, religious 
toleration, and satisfaction to the army, was received with a burst 
of national enthusiasm ; and the old constitution was restored by 
a solemn vote of the convention, "that according to the ancient 
and fundamental laws of this kingdom, the government is, and 
ought to be, by King, Lords, and Commons." The King was 
at once invited to hasten to his realm; and on May 25th Charles 
landed at Dover, and made his way amid the shouts of a great 
multitude to Whitehall. "It is my own fault," laughed the new 
King with characteristic irony, " that I had not come back sooner; 
for I find nobody who does not tell me he has always longed for 
my return." 

In his progress to the capital Charles passed in review the 
soldiers assembled on Blackheath. Betrayed by their general, 
abandoned by their leaders, surrounded as they were by a nation 
in arms, the gloomy silence of their ranks awed even the careless 


King with a sense of danger. But none of the victories of the 
" new model" were so glorious as the victory which it won over it- 
self. Quietly and without a struggle, as men who bowed to the in- 
scrutable will of God, the farmers and traders who had dashed 
Rupert's chivalry to pieces on Naseby field, who had scattered 
at Worcester the "army of the aliens," and driven into helpless 
flight the sovereign that now came "to enjoy his own again," 
who had renewed beyond sea the glories of Cressy and Agincourt, 
had mastered the Parliament, had brought a king to justice and 
the block, had given laws to England, and held even Cromwell in 
awe, became farmers and traders again, and were known among 
their fellow-men by no other sign than their greater soberness and 

And, with them, Puritanism laid down the sword. It ceased 
from the long attempt to build up a kingdom of God by force and 
violence, and fell back on its truer work of building up a king- 
dom of righteousness in the hearts and consciences of men. It 
was from the moment of its seeming fall that its real victory be- 
gan. As soon as the wild orgy of the Restoration was over, men 
began to see that nothing that was really worthy in the work of 
Puritanism had been undone. The revels of Whitehall, the scepti- 
cism and debauchery of courtiers, the corruption of statesmen, left 
the mass of Englishmen what Puritanism had made them — seri- 
ous, earnest, sober in life and conduct, firm in their love of Protes- 
tantism and of freedom. In the Revolution of 1688 Puritanism 
did the work of civil liberty which it had failed to do in that of 
1642. It wrought out, through Wesley and the revival of the eigh- 
teenth century, the work of religious reform which its earlier 
efforts had only thrown back for a hundred years. Slowly but 
steadily it introduced its own seriousness and purity into English 
society, English literature, English politics. The history of Eng- 
lish progress since the Restoration, on its moral and spiritual 
sides, has been the history of Puritanism. 


May 22, 1660. News brought that the two dukes are coming 
on board which, by and by, they did, in a Dutch boat, the Duke 
of York in yellow trimmings, the Duke of Gloucester in gray and 


red. My Lord 1 went in a boat to meet them, the captain, myself, 
and others standing at the entering port. So soon as they were en- 
tered we shot the guns off round the fleet. . After that they went to 
view the ship all over, and were most exceedingly pleased with it. 
They seem to be very fine gentlemen. After that done, upon the 
quarter-deck table, under the awning, the Duke of York and 
my Lord, Mr. Coventry, and I, spent an hour at allotting to every 
ship their service, in their return to England; which being done, 
they went to dinner, where the table was very full; the two dukes 
at the upper end, my Lord Opdam neat on one side, and my 
Lord on the other. Two guns given to every man while he 
was drinking the King's health, and so likewise to the Duke's 

I took down Monsieur d'Esquier to the great cabin below, 
and dined with him in state along with only one or two friends 
of his. All dinner the harper belonging to Captain Sparling 
played to the dukes. After dinner, the dukes and my Lord to 
sea, the vice and rear admirals and I in a boat after them. After 
that done, they made to the shore in the Dutch boat that brought 
them, and I got into the boat with them ; but the shore was full 
of people to expect their coming. When we came near the shore, 
my Lord left them and come into his own boat, and Pen and I 
with him; my Lord being very well pleased with this day's work. 
By the time we came on board again, news is sent us that the 
King is on shore ; so my Lord fired all his guns round twice, and 
all the fleet after him. The gun over against my cabin I fired 
myself to the King, which was the first time that he had been 
saluted by his own ships since this change ; but holding my head 
too much over the gun, I had almost spoiled my right eye. 
Nothing in the world but giving of guns almost all this day. 

In the evening we began to remove cabins; I to the carpen- 
ter's cabin, and Dr. Clerke with me. Many of the King's ser- 
vants came on board to-night; and so many Dutch of all sorts 
came to see the ship till it was quite dark, that we could not pass 
by one another, which was a great trouble to us all. This after- 
noon Mr. Downing (who was knighted yesterday by the King) 
was here on board, and had a ship for his passage into England, 

1 Sir Edward Montagu, afterward Earl of Sandwich, Pepys' patron. 
He was in command of the English fleet. 


with his lady and servants. By the same token he called me to 
him when I was going to write the order, to tell me that I must 
write him Sir G. Downing. My Lord lay in the roundhouse to- 
night. This evening I was late writing a French letter by my 
Lord's order to Monsieur Wragh, Ambassador de Denmarke a 
la Haye, which my Lord signed in bed. 

23d. In the morning come infinity of people on board from 
the King to go along with him. My Lord, Mr. Crewe, and others 
go on shore to meet the King as he comes off from shore, where 
Sir R. Stayner, bringing his majesty into the boat, I hear that his 
majesty did with a great deal of affection kiss my Lord upon his 
first meeting. The King, with the two dukes and Queen of 
Bohemia, Princess Royal, and Prince of Orange, come on board, 
where I in their coming in kissed the King's, Queen's, and Prin- 
cess' hands, having done the other before. Infinite shooting off 
of the guns, and that in a disorder on purpose, which was better 
than if it had been otherwise. All day nothing but lords and 
persons of honor on board, that we were exceeding full. Dined 
in a great deal of state, the royal company by themselves in the 
coach, which was a blessed sight to see. 

After dinner the King and Duke altered the name of some of 
the ships, viz., the Nazeby, into Charles; the Richard, James; 
the Speaker, Mary. That done, the Queen, Princess Royal, 
and Prince of Orange took leave of the King, and the Duke of 
York went on board the London, and the Duke of Gloucester the 
Swiftsure. Which done, we weighed anchor, and with a fresh 
gale and most happy weather we set sail for England. All the 
afternoon the King walked here and there, up and down (quite 
contrary to what I thought him to have been) very active and 
stirring. Upon the quarter-deck he fell into discourse of his 
escape from Worcester, where it made me ready to weep to hear 
the stories that he told of his difficulties that he had passed 
through, as his travelling four days and three nights on foot, every 
step up to his knees in dirt, with nothing but a green coat and a 
pair of country breeches on, and a pair of country shoes that 
made him so sore all over his feet that he could scarce stir. Yet 
he was forced to run away from a miller and other company, that 
took them for rogues. 

His sitting at table at one place, where the master of the 


house that had not seen him in eight years, did know him, but 
kept it private; when at the same table there was one that had 
been of his own regiment at Worcester, could not know him, but 
made him drink the King's health, and said that the King was 
at least four fingers higher than he. At another place he was by 
some servants of the house made to drink, that they might know 
that he was not a Roundhead, which they swore he was. In an- 
other place at his inn, the master of the house, as the King was 
standing with his hands upon the back of a chair by the fireside, 
kneeled down and kissed his hand, privately, saying, that he 
would not ask him who he was, but bid God bless him whither he 
was going. Then the difficulties in getting a boat to get into 
France, where he was fain to plot with the master thereof to keep 
his design from the foreman and a boy (which was all the ship's 
company), and so get to Fecamp in France. 

At Rouen he looked so poorly, that the people went into the 
rooms before he went away to see whether he had not stole some- 
thing or other. In the evening I went up to my Lord to write 
letters for England, which we sent away, with word of our com- 
ing, by Mr. Edw. Pickering. The King supped alone in the 
coach ; after that I got a dish, and we four supped in my cabin, 
as at noon. About bedtime my Lord Bartlett (who I had offered 
my service to before) sent for me to get him a bed, who with much 
ado I did get to bed to my Lord Middlesex in the great cabin be- 
low, but I was truly troubled before I could dispose of him, and 
quit myself of him. So to my cabin again, where the company 
still was, and were talking more of the King's difficulties : as how 
he was fain to eat a piece of bread and cheese out of a poor body's 
pocket ; how, at a Catholic house, he was fain to lie in the priest's 
hole a good while in the house for his privacy. After that our 
company broke up. We have the lords commissioners on board 
us, and many others. Under sail all night, and most glorious 

24th. Up, and made myself as fine as I could, with the linen 
stockings on and wide canons that I bought the other day at 
Hague. Extraordinary press of noble company, and great mirth 
all the day. There dined with me in my cabin (that is, the car- 
penter's) Dr. Earle, and Mr. Hollis, the King's Chaplains, Dr. 
Scarborough, Dr. Quarterman, and Dr. Clerke, Physicians, Mr. 


Daray, and Mr. Fox (both very fine gentlemen), the King's ser- 
vants, where we have brave discourse. Walking upon the decks, 
were persons of honor all the afternoon, among others, Thomas 
Killigrew (a merry droll, but a gentleman of great esteem with 
the King), who told us many merry stories. 

At supper the three doctors of physic again at my cabin; 
where I put Dr. Scarborough in mind of what I heard him say, 
that children do, in every day's experience, look several ways 
with both their eyes, till custom teaches them otherwise. And 
that we do now see but with one eye, our eyes looking in parallel 
lines. After this discourse I was called to write a pass for my 
Lord Mandeville to take up horses to London, which I wrote in 
the King's name, and carried it to him to sign, which was the 
first and only one that ever he signed in the ship Charles. To 
bed, coming in sight of land a little before night. 

25th. By the morning we were come close to the land, and 
everybody made ready to get on shore. The King and the two 
dukes did eat their breakfast before they went, and there being 
set some ship's diet they ate of nothing else but pease and pork, 
and boiled beef. Dr. Clerke, who ate with me, told me how the 
King had given fifty pounds to Mr. Shepley for my Lord's ser- 
vants, and five hundred pounds among the officers and common 
men of the ship. I spoke to the Duke of York about business, 
who called me Pepys by name, and upon my desire did promise me 
his future favor. Great expectation of the King's making some 
knights, but there was none. About noon (though the brigan- 
tine that Beale made was there ready to carry him), yet he would 
go in my Lord's barge with the two dukes. Our captain steered, 
and my Lord went along bare with him. I went, and Mr. 
Mansell, and one of the King's footmen, and a dog that the King 
loved, in a boat by ourselves, and so got on shore when the King 
did, who was received by General Monk with all imaginable love 
and respect at his entrance upon the land of Dover. 

Infinite the crowd of people and the horsemen, citizens, and 
noblemen of all sorts. The mayor of the town came and gave 
him his white staff, the badge of his place, which the King did 
give him again. The mayor also presented him from the town 
a very rich Bible, which he took, and said it was the thing that he 
loved above all things in the world. A canopy was provided for 


him to stand under, which he did, and talked awhile with Gen- 
eral Monk and others, and so into a stately coach there set for 
him, and so away through the town toward Canterbury, without 
making any stay at Dover. The shouting and joy expressed 
by a)l is past imagination. Seeing that my Lord did not stir out 
of his barge, I got into a boat and so into his barge. My Lord 
almost transported with joy that he had done all this without any 
the least blur or obstruction in the world, that could give offence 
to any, and with the great honor he thought it would be to him. 



A.D. 1609-1660 



Embracing the Period Covered in This Volume 

a.d. 1609-1660 


Events treated at length are here indicated in large 
type ; the numerals following give volume and page. 

Separate chronologies of the various nations, and of 
the careers of famous persons, will be found in the Index 
Volume, with volume and page references showing where 
the several events are fully treated. 


1609. Settlement of Somers on the Bermudas ; the English give them 
his name. 

The Catholic League in Germany formed. 

Twelve years' truce arranged between Spain and the Netherlands. 

Discovery by Samuel Champlain of the lake bearing his name. 

Ascent of the Hudson River by Henry Hudson. See " Henry Hud- 
son Explores the Hudson River," xi, 1. 

Publication of the English version of the Bible at Douai. 

Galileo constructs the first telescope. (Date uncertain.) 

Another false Demetrius appears in Russia; Sigismund, King of Po- 
land, and the Cossacks support him. 

Copper coin first issued in England. 

1610. Assassination of Henry IV of France; his son, Louis XIII, suc- 
ceeds; regency of Marie de' Medici. 

Discovery and exploration of Hudson Bay. 
Shakespeare's Macbeth first acted. 

Discovery by Galileo of the Satellites of Jupiter. See " Galileo 
Overthrows Ancient Philosophy," xi, 14. 

1611. Settlement of English and Scotch Protestants in Ulster Prov- 
ince, Ireland. 

Completion and publication of the King James version of the Bible. 

1612. Liberation of Russia from its Polish invaders. 

First settlement of the English in India. See " Beginning of Brit- 
ish Power in India," xi, 30. 



1613. Founding of the Romanoff, the present, dynasty in Russia, by 
the accession of Michael II. 

Argall, of Virginia, destroys the French colony at Port Royal, Acadia. 

1614. Erection, by the Dutch, of a fort on Manhattan Island. See 
44 Dutch Settlement of New York," xi, 44. 

Last convocation of the States-General in France before the Revo- 

Invention of logarithms by Lord Napier, England. 

1615. Marriage of Louis XIII with Anne of Austria, daughter of 
Philip III of Spain. 

At Frankfort-on-the-Main is published the first known weekly news- 

1616. Beginning of war between Sweden and Poland. 

Discovery of the circulation of the blood by Harvey. See " Harvey 
Discovers the Circulation of the Blood," xi, 50. 

Exploration of the bay, to which his name has been given, by Baffin. 
Death of Shakespeare and Cervantes. 

1617. Assassination of Mareschal d'Ancre, favorite of Marie de' Me- 
dici; Marie is exiled. 

Peace of Stolbova between Russia and Sweden; territory on the Bal- 
tic ceded to Sweden. 

1618. Execution of Raleigh. 

Beginning of the Thirty Years' War. See " The Defenestration 
at Prague," xi, 62. 

Union of the Duchy of Prussia with the Electorate of Brandenburg. 
Arminianism condemned by the Synod of Dort. 

1619. Death of Emperor Matthias ; succession of his cousin, Ferdi- 
nand 1 1, for some years his imperial colleague, and also King of Hungary 
and Bohemia. The Bohemians depose him and elect Frederick to the 

Colonial Assembly at Jamestown, Virginia. See " First American 
Legislature," xi, 76. 

Foundation of Batavia by the Dutch as the seat of their power in the 
East Indies. 

" Introduction of Negroes into Virginia." See xi, 81. 

1620. Battle of the White Mountain ; decisive defeat of the Protes- 
tants of Bohemia; flight of Frederick, the newly elected king. 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers at Plymouth, New Enlgand. See 
" English Pilgrims Settle at Plymouth," xi, 93. 

Massacre of Protestants in the Valtelline ; occupation of the territory 
by the Spaniards. 

Publication of Bacon's Novum Organum. See " Birth of Mod- 
ern Scientific Methods," xi, 116. 

1621. Bacon, Lord Chancellor of England, confesses his acceptance 
of bribes ; his downfall. 

Dissolution of the Evangelical Union; continuation by Mansfield of 
the war for the Elector Frederick V. 


Introduction of cotton culture in Virginia. 
Institution of Thanksgiving Day in New England. 
War of the Huguenots, led by Rohan and Soubise, against Louis 

1622. Founding of the Propaganda by Pope Gregory XV. 
Publication of the first known regularly issued newspaper, The Weekly 

JVewes, in Exigland. 

Grant of a province containing parts of New Hampshire and Maine, 
to Sir Ferdinando Gorges and John Mason. 

New Netherland taken possession of by the Dutch West India Com- 

Indian massacre in Virginia. 

1623. Conquest and transfer of the Palatinate to the Duke of Bavaria, 

Building by the Dutch of Fort Orange, on the present site of Albany. 

1624. Discordant factions in the French court prepare the way for 
Richelieu to become prime minister to Louis XIII. 

England, Holland, and Denmark form an alliance to support the Prot- 
estants of Germany. 

Massacre of the English in Amboyna by the Dutch. 

1625. English settlers occupy the islands of Barbados and St. 

Charles I of England succeeds his father, James I ; he prorogues his 
first Parliament. See "Abolition of the Court of Star Cham- 
ber," xi, 215. 

Renewal of insurrection by the French Huguenots. See " Siege of 
La Rochelle," xi, 129. 

1626. Purchase of Manhattan Island from the Indians by the Dutch. 
Impeachment of the Duke of Buckingham ; Charles I dissolves his 

second Parliament. 

Peace of Louis XIII and the Huguenots. 

1627. A part of Brazil seized by the Dutch. 

Accession to the Mogul throne of Shah Jahan, builder of the Taj 
Mahal, Agra, India. 

Alliance of England with the Huguenots ; renewal of the war ; siege 
of La Rochelle ; Buckingham makes an unsuccessful attempt on the Isle 
of R6. 

1628. Compulsion of Charles I to assent to the Petition of Right, 
limiting the abuse of the royal authority. Buckingham assassinated. 

Unsuccessful siege by Wallenstein of Straslund. 

Fall of La Rochelle. See "Siege of La Rochelle," xi, 129. 

1629. End of the Huguenot wars. Richelieu becomes prime minister 
of Louis XIII. See "Siege of La Rochelle," xi, 129. 

Quebec captured by the English. 

Edict of Restitution by Ferdinand II demanding the surrender to the 
Catholic Church of all sees and secularized property in the possession of 
Protestants. He concludes peace with Denmark. 


1630. Foundation of Boston, Massachusetts. See " Great Puritan 
Exodus to New England," xi, 153. 

Dismissal of Wallenstein by Emperor Ferdinand II. Gustavus Adol- 
phus of Sweden wages war on behalf of the Protestants in Germany. 

1631. Escape from France of Marie de' Medici, after being imprisoned 
for intrigues against Richelieu. 

Magdeburg captured and sacked by Tilly, the imperial general. 

Gustavus Adolphus advances to the Rhine ; the Elector of Saxony, 
John George, occupies Prague with his forces. 

Settlement of Kent Island, Maryland, by William Clayborne. 

First newspaper printed in France, Gazette de France; still existing. 

Reform of education by Comenius. See " The Educational Re- 
form of Comenius," xi, 192. 

1632. Charles I of England grants a charter to Cecilius Calvert, second 
Lord Baltimore, for a colony in Maryland. 

Forcing of the passage of the Lech by Gustavus Adolphus ; Tilly de- 
feated and slain ; Munich occupied by the Swedes. 

Battle of Luetzen ; victory of the Swedes over Wallenstein by Gusta- 
vus Adolphus, who is slain. His daughter, Christina, succeeds. See 
" Triumph and Death of Gustavus Adolphus at Luetzen," xi, 174. 

Restoration of Canada and Nova Scotia to France by England. 

1633. Union of Heilbronn; consolidation of the Protestant interests 
by Oxenstierna. 

Wentworth appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. 

Laud becomes Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Richelieu fails in his attempt to unite the Italian states in a con- 

Under compulsion Galileo rejects the Copernican system. See " Re- 
cantation of Galileo," xi, 184. 

1634. Assassination of Wallenstein, the result of a conspiracy. Bat- 
tle of Noerdlingen ; the German and Swede Protestant army annihilated. 

Writ for the levying of ship money in England. Arbitrary proceed- 
ings of the Star-chamber. 

A windmill for sawing timber prohibited in England. 
Leonard Calvert settles St. Mary's, Maryland. 
The town on Manhattan Island is named New Amsterdam. 
Connecticut settled by the English. 

1635. Partition of New England territory, following the dissolution of 
the Council. 

Under Richelieu France actively engages in a contest against Austria 
and Spain in Italy. 

Richelieu takes a hand in the Thirty Years' War. 
Foundation of the French Academy. 

1636. France invaded by the Imperialists, Spaniards, and Charles of 

Banishment of Roger Williams from Massachusetts ; he makes a set- 
tlement at Providence. 


Hartford, Connecticut, founded. 
Establishment of Harvard College. 

John Hampden resists the payment of ship-money ; the judges of 
fengland declare the impost to be lawful. 

1637. Continued severities of the Star chamber in England ; Prynne a 
second time its victim, together with Burton, Bastwick, and Lilburne. 

Resistance of the Scots against the introduction of the English liturgy. 
War of the New England colonies with the Pequots. 

1638. Publication of the National Covenant by the Scots ; they declare 
Episcopacy abolished. 

John Harvard, Cambridge, England, bequeaths his library and the 
half of his fortune to Harvard College, which takes his name. 

Alsace occupied by the French. 

A settlement made on the island of Aquidneck (Rhode Island) by 
William Coddington. 

Founding of New Haven colony. 

Settlement of Swedes and Finns in Delaware. 

Bagdad besieged and captured by the Turks ; a horrible massacre of 
the inhabitants follows. 

1639. In Scotland the Covenanters take up arms; Pacification of Ber- 

Capture and destruction of two Spanish fleets by Van Tromp, the Dutch 
admiral, in the English Channel. 

In Connecticut the people adopt a constitution. See " First Writ- 
ten Free Constitution in the World," xi, 205. 

First observance of the transit of Venus, by Jeremiah Horrox. 

1640. Invasion of England by the Scots. 

Meeting of the Long Parliament; impeachment of Strafford ; Laud is 
impeached. Iniquities of the Star chamber. 

Death of George William, Elector of Brandenburg and Duke of Prus- 
sia; his son, Frederick William, succeeds; he regains his states by an 
alliance with Sweden, and prepares the eminence of Prussia. 

Madras, India, settled by the English. 

Portugal recovers independence ; John, Duke of Braganza, pro- 
claimed king as John IV. 

1641. Archbishop Laud committed to the Tower of London; execu- 
tion of Strafford. See "Abolition of the Court of Star-cham- 
ber," ix, 215. 

Alleged massacre of Protestants in a rising of Catholics in Ireland. 
The title of Roundheads given to the popular party in England. 

1642. Conspiracy of Cinq Mars in France ; he and De Thou are 

Revolt against Charles I in England. He raises his standard at Not- 

Battle of Breitenfeld ; the Swedes are victorious. 

Condemnation of Jansen's work on the doctrine of Augustine, by Pope 
Urban VIII. 


Tasman, the Dutch navigator, discovers Tasmania (Van Diemen's 
Land) and New Zealand. 

" Founding of Montreal." See xi, 232. 

1643. Convention of the Westminster Assembly of divines. See 
" Presbyterianism Established," xi, 238. 

Establishment of a confederacy by the United Colonies of New Eng- 

Death of Louis XIII ; succession of Louis XIV to the French throne ; 
Anne of Austria regent; Mazarin prime-minister. 

Battle of Rocroy; defeat of the Spaniards by the Due d'Enghien. 
The French are defeated by the Imperialists at Tuttlingen. 

Invention, by Torricelli, of the barometer. 

1644. Battle of Marston Moor. 

Denmark overrun by Torstenson ; battle at Freiburg between French 
and Germans; at Jueterbog Torstenson defeats Gallas. 

Establishment of the Manchu dynasty in China; end of the Ming 

A patent obtained from the English Parliament by Roger Williams 
for the united government of the settlements of Rhode Island. 

1645. Execution of Laud ; Battle of Naseby in England, defeat of the 

Death of Michael, Emperor of Russia; Alexis succeeds. 

1646. Charles I delivers himself to the Scots; the Marquis of Mont- 
rose, who had been operating in Scotland against the Covenanters, capitu- 
lates to the Roundheads. 

Battle of Jankau ; victory of Torstenson ; Hatzfeld, the Imperial gen- 
eral, captured. The Due d'Enghien and Turenne near Noerdlingen. 

1647. Insurrection of Masaniello in Naples. See " Masaniello's 
Revolt at Naples," xi, 253. 

Charles I, being handed over to the Parliamentarians by the Scots, 

A truce arranged between the Elector of Bavaria and the Swedes and 

Peter Stuyvesant appointed governor of New Amsterdam. 

Huygens invents and applies the pendulum to clocks. 

Founding of the Society of Friends, or Quakers, by George Fox, Eng- 

1648. Rising of the Royalists in England ; the Scots, who had taken 
up arms for Charles, are defeated by Cromwell. The Long Parliament 
driven from its chambers by Cromwell. 

Recognition of the independence of Holland by Spain. 
End of Thirty Years' War. See " Peace of Westphalia," xi, 285. 
Insurrection in Paris against Prime-Minister Mazarin: Day of the 

1649. Execution of Charles I. His son Charles proclaimed king in 
Scotland. England becomes a commonwealth ; Cromwell Lord Lieu- 
tenant of Ireland. See " Great Civil War in England," xi, 311. 


Imprisonment of George Fox, founder of the Society of Friends, at 

Civil war of the Fronde ; the Treaty of Reuil ends it. 

" Cromwell's Campaign in Ireland." See xi, 335. 

Passage of the Act of Toleration in Maryland. See " Religious 
Toleration Proclaimed in Maryland," xi, 303. 

1650. Montrose lands in Scotland to aid the Scot forces of Charles 
II; he is defeated, taken prisoner, and hanged. Cromwell passes the 
Tweed ; Battle of Dunbar, victory of Cromwell. 

Mazarin orders the princes of Conde* and Conti and the Duke of 
Longueville to be imprisoned. 

Invention of the air-pump by Otto von Guericke. (Date uncertain.) 
Possession of the Cape of Good Hope taken by the Dutch. 
Settlement of North Carolina. 

1651. Battle of Worcester ; defeat of Charles II; flight of the King. 
See " Great Civil War in England," xi, 311. 

Passage of the Navigation Act, which was disastrous to the trade of 
England's American colonies. 

Mazarin banished France ; peace ensues. 

Massachusetts adopts the Cambridge Platform, a declaration of prin- 
ciples respecting church government. 

1652. War between the two republics of England and Holland ; 
Blake, commanding the English fleet, defeats De Witt and De Ruyter ; he 
is in turn surprised by Van Tromp, who captures six English ships, drives 
the others up the Thames, and sails the Channel with a broom at the 

Complete suppression of the Irish rebellion. 

Rhode Island legislates to restrict slavery in the Province. 

1653. A three-days' naval engagement between the English fleet, under 
Blake, and that of the Dutch, under Van Tromp; great victory of the 

Cromwell expels the Rump Parliament ; assembling of the Barebones 
Parliament. Cromwell becomes Protector of the English Common- 

1654. Peace between England and Holland. 
Scotland incorporated with the English Commonwealth. 

Revolt of the Cossacks against Poland; their leader, Chmielnicki, 
places himself under the Russian crown ; war ensues between Russia and 

First meeting in London of the Society of Friends. 

Nova Scotia conquered by the New England colonists. 

Abdication of Queen Christina of Sweden in favor of her cousin, 
Charles X. 

1655. Dispossession of the Swedish settlers on the Delaware bf 
Peter Stuyvesant. 

The island of Jamaica captured from the Spaniards by the English 

1656. First persecution of Quakers in Massachusetts. 


Charles X is joined by Frederick William, Elector of Brandenburg, 
against the Poles ; the Cossacks resume their allegiance to Poland. Bat- 
tle of Warsaw, overthrow of the Poles. 

An end put to the Portuguese power in Ceylon by the Dutch. 

1657. Declination of the English crown by Oliver Cromwell. 
Alliance between Austria and Poland against Sweden. 

Death of Emperor Ferdinand III ; his son, Leopold, inherits Austria, 
Bohemia, and Hungary. 

1658. Battle of the Dunes ; defeat of the Spaniards by the English 
and French ; Dunkirk, captured from the Spaniards by the French, is 
secured to England. 

Aurungzebe the Great seizes the Mogul throne in India. 
Death of Cromwell; his son Richard becomes Protector. 
Election of Leopold I as Emperor of Germany. 

1659. Production of Moliere's first comedy. See " Moliere Cre- 
ates Modern Comedy," xi, 347. 

Resignation of Richard Cromwell ; formation of a provisional gov- 
ernment by the army in England. 

Peace of the Pyrenees between France and Spain. 

Conventions of The Hague between England, Holland, and France. 

1660. End of Puritan rule in England ; restoration of the Stuarts. 
See " Cromwell's Rule in England," xi, 357. 

Death of Charles X ; Charles XI succeeds to the Swedish throne. 

Foundation of the Royal Society, London, for the promotion of 
mathematical and physical science. 

Marriage of Louis XIV of France with Maria Theresa, daughter of 
Philip IV of Spain.